


Neon Triumviratus Evangelion

by Disparate_Dawn



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Government Conspiracy, LGBTQ Character, Multi, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-01 01:26:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15132038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disparate_Dawn/pseuds/Disparate_Dawn
Summary: The year is 2019, and with Dr. Katsuragi surviving Second Impact, the world has changed dramatically. Now, as the angels begin to arise, Kensuke investigates an unsolved death, Asuka discovers a long-lost secret, and SEELE attempts to maneuver around NERV.This story is an alternate universe that effectively takes a step halfway into William Gibson's Sprawl trilogy, though familiarity with the work isn't necessary.





	1. Prologue

**Prologue  
Nhkhotakota, Malawi; 6 August, 2006**  
  
Caesar Augustus was the first to log into the secured chat server after a few hours of work, but he didn’t have to wait long. Mark Antony came online a few minutes later, and after him, so did Marcus Lepidas.  _Everything in place?_  Augustus typed before standing. With hurried yet precise movements, he moved through the room, disposing of everything that he could. Most went into a 55-gallon drum, along with some oil and a lit match. Pictures, newspaper clippings, everything that he could possibly find. Donation envelopes with addresses to long disbanded countries littered the counter, and he scooped them all up with numbness. A magazine got thrown in next, the bright faces of world leaders plastered over with ‘The New World: Addressing Second Impact, Climate Change, Food Security, and Mass Migration’. He remembered despising the article.  
  
Only two things were kept out: a picture of himself and a young girl, and a headline, dated October 2nd, 2001. “The Destruction in the Antarctic, and the Heroes Who Came Back”. He looked over them briefly before moving to the kitchen counter, and looking over a bottle he had put together. The mixture looked ready.  
  
By the time he came back to the computer, Lepidas had responded.  _The Maiden will have little security in three days time. I’ve secured access through the Crone. Antony will retrieve the Maiden after that.  
  
Travel plans are ready on my end, _came the message from Antony.  _I will be on the mainland shore within 4 hours of this operation.  
  
Good. _Augustus wrote, and then paused. Deliberated on how to continue.  _Pressure will be taken off of you. They’ll be looking in the wrong place.  
  
How? _Lepidas asked. Always a little terse. Augustus let out a slight grin at that. Tutoring her—hell, tutoring them both had always been an interesting experience. One that he certainly couldn’t bring himself to regret. Even if he did it over such long distances.  
  
 _I’ve leaked my location,_ Augustus answered.  _I expect I have at least five hours—the perks of working from Malawi, I think. Kind of hard to get to since Second Impact._ He held his breath after that.  
  
Thankfully, the both of them were professionals. Antony was the first to reply.  _That’ll certainly keep them occupied. At least if you’ve been half as much a dick as I think you’ve been.  
  
I see_, was all that Lepidas wrote.  
  
 _If there’s nothing else we have to say to one another, we may wish to end this discussion. I still have a few things yet to destroy._ He glanced over at a collection of computer tapes that he had been meaning to throw into the fire and had forgotten about. He did that now, and checked the fire. Still burning well enough.   
  
 _Well, I’ll be off,_ Antony had written in the interim,  _and if one of those giants steps on me, then don’t go back for me. I don’t want the humiliation._ He had subsequently logged off.  
  
 _He never learned who you were, did he?_ Lepidas asked not long after Antony disconnected. Augustus sighed and rubbed his cheek, unsure of what to reply with. It hadn't taken Lepidas long to figure his identity out. In truth, he had expected for her to share it with others, but that fateful day never came. Even now, he was unsure how he felt about that.  
  
 _If he had learned, then he would have told her._ Augustus looked over at the photo of his daughter, taken so many years ago, the two of them smiling calmly towards the camera, coats zipped up as they stood on an icebreaker. His heart cursed and thrashed, but the prison that was his ribs remained steadfast.  _I couldn’t have that,_ he added swiftly.  _I don’t think that would be the best for any of us.  
  
Alright. I want you to know, it has been wonderful working with you, doctor.  
  
And you as well, doctor.  
_  
They both disconnected, and Augustus wiped his computer’s hard drive clean several times over before tossing it into the bin. More documents: technical research, lab results, and his own inane scribblings, years of mistaken ambition and years of desperate atonement, were all throw together. He combed the place again and again, ensuring that he had managed to find everything, every trace of who he was that he still had. Finally, he took those two items. He tossed the headline in easily, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw the photo in. Instead he stared at him, hoping that it could take him back in time. The two of them, as they had once been. As he had, for a short time, wished that they could have remained.  _That life is gone,_ he reminded himself, and threw it in as well. This time, he applied the oil more liberally. The flames burned away everything, save for the furniture and a handful of chairs he had picked up from here and there. Everything left that had made Caesar Augustus, and before that, everything that had made Dr. Katsuragi.  
  
He took his seat, moving the metal folding chair to watch the doorway. The sound of the flames dying out filled the room, and made him wince. The thought of fleeing came into his mind once or twice, but he ignored it. There was time once for fleeing, before he had finished his work. Back when the wounds of Second Impact were still raw and bleeding, when the Maldives and Bangladesh and Japan had been left reeling. Back when widespread crop destruction had resulted in famine, and everywhere he went, he saw devastation. He had done his best to help where he could, watching as the Second Green Revolution took effect across the world. And now, there was only one task left for him before he could rest. Satisfied, he drew a rosary, bringing the thick, metal cross between his fingers, and began to pray. He had never been religious before Antarctica, wearing a simple cross but not thinking of it. Now; however, he prayed rosary after rosary.  
  
Eventually, he heard the door to the cellar open. The footsteps were heavy as the sounded against the concrete. “You took up a peaceful life,” they commented. Katsuragi tilted his head. Their voice was thick, decidedly German. If he hadn’t been expecting them, Katsuragi would have been scared. Inevitability; however, was a powerful dulling agent. “Pointless, in the end, but admirable. There is but one way to achieve peace.”  
  
A man walked into view, a heavyset man in a suit, the black of the suit contrasting their pasty skin. There was a pistol in his hand. A P30, if Katsuragi remembered correctly. Dr. Katsuragi felt a brief tremor of fear, but quelled it. “I’ve found that way,” Dr. Katsuragi declared, holding up his rosary as he spoke. “Would you pray with me?”  
  
“Where have you reached?” The man reached out to a folding chair propped against the wall, letting it scrape against the floor.  
  
“The Annunciation.”  
  
“Ah, right. Fitting, the declaration of new life, the creation of a new being, a better being. As we will all become.”  
  
“I see you’re the fanatic type,” Katsuragi said, letting out a slight laugh. “But yes, that is where I am, though. But in truth, I’ve been thinking more about things a little later in the book. Matthew, that is.”  
  
“Oh?” the man asked. The gun came moving around in a lazy wave of his arm. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“The hybrids,” Dr. Katsuragi answered. Across from him, the man started, standing and pointing the gun at him. “You and SEELE . . . Ikari and NERV. I’ve spent the years putting together a network to find me these things, and oh did they find things. You won’t be able to find them—I’ve been preparing for this moment far too well for that.”  
  
“This moment?” At this, the agent laughed, and moved to put away his chair. “You’ve lost, doctor. The more stable the world is, the easier it is for SEELE to put together our pieces. The more damage the world suffers, the easier it is for the world to trust SEELE. There is no way in which this ends well for you. The masses are too fractured to stop us, even if they knew we existed.”  
  
Katsuragi sighed and stood. “The book of Matthew,” he said. “That’s how I win. The child escapes to Egypt. And Herod loses.”  
  
“If you think that will work.” Dr. Katsuragi gave one last look around the room that had become his home. The fortress that he had hidden himself in, plucking out interactions only to subvert SEELE and NERV, only to progress his work.  _I could have sent Misato messages,_ he realized. Then the man fired, and Dr. Katsuragi crumpled to the ground.


	2. Chapter One

Czechia; 2nd August, 2019  
  
The train lurched around a bend. The movement lifted the head of the sleeping woman and let it fall against the glass.  
  
Asuka woke from the movement, groaning. Outside, the faint lights of a town sped past, and then the train was plunged into a dark world. Her reflection was visible in the glass, and she inspected it for a moment. The past few days had been hurried, and it was visible in her face. She sighed, pulled her hair back into a tail, and turned to the rest of the train.  
  
The nighttime train was fairly empty, particular in the lounge car she and Shinji were in. The rest of the occupants were mostly suits of various types, and an older woman wearing an unreasonably expensive dress, all sleeping. Next to Asuka, Shinji was lounging back in his seat, face hidden by both his scraggly hair and his high buttoned dress shirt. He was staring intently at his deck, a black-plastic model that he occasionally typed into before taking sips of coffee. Beside it, she saw he had been reading  _The Wisdom of Insecurity_ , his dog-eared copy of the book laying on a small table in between them.  
  
Asuka watched as he gazed into the device, wanting yet unwilling to grab his attention. After a while, she checked her watch and saw that it there was still an hour left to go before the third began. With that knowledge, she closed her eyes and tried to drift off, this time being sure to keep her head away from the window. She didn’t go for very long before there was a tap on her shoulder. She opened them to see an official standing over her. “Yes?”  
  
“I hate to bother you, but we’ve received a complaint, on the matter of your, ah . . .” As he trailed off his eyes drifted down, and Asuka followed them to her bag. The edge of her pistol—a P22CA she had selected as her protective sidearm—was just pushing out.  
  
“Oh, that.” Asuka rummaged in her jacket pocket before pulling out her NERV identification badge, complete with the UN’s seal and stamp. “I spoke to a conductor before we left, but that’s no issue.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Shinji had looked over, and smirked slightly at that. “I am authorized to carry this weapon, and may waive inspection. If it’s an issue, he is too,” she added. It seemed that Shinji was about to protest, but the motion died before it picked up much weight. The man above her merely gave her a clipped apology and walked away.  
  
“Oh that was satisfying,” she mumbled to herself as she turned back around.  
  
“Was it? It looks like you could have pushed it further down, avoided anyone seeing it. Then we wouldn’t have needed to talk to him.”  
  
“But then what would be the point? Come on, Second Child, what’s the point of being a pilot if you can’t show it—knowing that pilots are around give people hope. Knowing we can help them, that’s important. I should hope that they can appreciate it.” Shinji shrugged at that, as Asuka expected him to do. Even after all the year she had known him, he still didn’t appreciate what he had. What all the pilots had. She yawned and leaned back.  
  
“Get much rest?” Shinji asked her after a moment. She shook her head—she hadn’t slept well in a long time. By this point, she took it as granted. Her mother may have gone from the world, but never from her mind. “About the angel?”  
  
At last she spoke. “Please, about the angel? Maybe it would be anxiety-inducing for the second-best pilot, but I’m made of sterner stuff.” She let out a tiny smirk, fully expecting for him to take the bait.  
  
He didn’t disappoint, instead cutting right back. “Second best? I don’t see how that’s the case.”  
  
“Simple. I have, what, two-hundred-and-fifty kills. You have somewhere near two-hundred. Ergo, I’m the better pilot.”  
  
“Oh,” Shinji said. “But those were simulation kills, weren’t they? Figured only actual ones would work, so 1-0 in my favor.”  
  
“A fluke.” In truth, it had been. It hadn’t been her fault she was in Berlin with Doctor Naoko Akagi when the angelic embryo they had been studying in Japan finally emerged. It wasn’t as if Shinji even had done anything impressive. He had killed a child, effectively. An angel, yes, but there had been no danger in what had occurred, no glory. Well, there was glory for him, but it was glory that he shouldn’t have gained. She rolled her eyes at the memory. She would prove herself when the next came, in any case.  
  
“If you say so,” Shinji said, and looked back down at his deck. Asuka stared at him, unsure of what to do. It was easier to end a conversation without truly stepping on each other. Hurt less that way—even she could understand that. Didn’t mean that was for the best, though.  
  
“What you working on?” she asked.   
  
“Talking with Touji,” he answered, and typed something in quickly. Asuka nodded. In some ways, even Suzuhara was easier to deal with than Ikari, at least the jock had some sense of camaraderie between pilots. Even then, Suzuhara was still a far cry from being an ideal pilot, or even a passable one.   
  
“He’s up early. How is he?” Asuka somehow managed to make herself sound interested.  
  
“Bored and nervous,” Shinji answered. Asuka hummed in sympathy. Those three words could sum up the entire life of a pilot. “Sounds like he’s playing a game of hurry up and wait—once they start with upgrading Unit-04 are down, he’ll be the only active pilot on the homefront.”  
  
“Best hope that nothing attacks then,” Asuka decided. “Can’t trust the stooge with dinner, can’t trust him with defending the world.”  
  
“That was one time,” Shinji let out the smallest bit of protest. It wasn’t enough.  
  
“You threw up.” Asuka had photographic evidence of the event, too. It had been the night when she and Shinji had finally returned to Tokyo after the successful extraction of the embryonic angel in the Falklands. 2015 was so many years ago. The initial trio of pilots: Asuka, Shinji, and Touji, had only just begun working alongside each other when the angel embryo was discovered. While some new girl from Hokkaido named Hikari Horaki had been recruited for pilot Unit-04 to give the homefront a better chance, Asuka and Shinji from Japan were sent to capture the angel. Asuka remembered hoping for glorious battle, for raining shots and slicing steel to destroy her enemy. To experience the taste of victory.  
  
Instead, they had successfully contained the lifeform, had it frozen and transported back to Tokyo without incident. Sure the angel, later designated Sachiel, had hatched some six months ago, but at the time all Asuka had felt was the disappointment when she had emerged from the plug, and the slow elation that came from everyone else’s joy. It had been surprisingly contagious, even if Shinji’s reaction to his friend’s apocalyptic meal had put a slight damper on things.   
The memory caused Shinji to shudder, and gave Asuka slight grin. “Still, he is a pilot. Once Hikari’s unit is upgraded, he’ll know he’s safe.”  
  
“I think he’s in agreement,” Shinji added.  
  
“Good. Tell him I said that.” Shinji nodded, and Asuka leaned back, closing her eyes and trying to imagine her happiest days.  
  
***  
  
All along their voyage through Europe, the hubs of travel had been busy. It reminded Asuka of when she had been in Brasilia for Unit-02’s launch into space, watching the red wonder be taken up to NERV-5, providing global coverage for the Evangelions. Her joy at the moment had been stifled by the crowds that had been packed into Brasilia after Second Impact, still not fully housed after so much of the coastline had been lost. Europe, despite sharing in tragic losses, was significantly better off now, the privilege of having the UN’s attention and budget. The fact that two Evangelions had been built in Europe had certainly helped. Looking back, it was also likely the reason why, now that Unit-02 was in space and not Europe, Unit-01 was being brought over. Everything cycled in and out, cause and effect.  
  
An angel was discovered in the Falklands, so the UN wanted an Evangelion to be deployable across the entire world. Unit-02 was transported into space, and so Europe wanted an Evangelion permanently within the continent. Unit-01 became that designated Eva, and so Asuka began planning a trip to let Shinji experience Europe, which itself lead to her now hoping that traffic in Paris wouldn’t be too bad.  
  
Disappointingly, Gare du Nord was horrendously packed, and she had to practically pull Shinji through the entire thing, arm latched to arm. She was certain that otherwise he would get lost, likely fall into despair, or something else like that. It was so very  _Shinji_ to become useless in some unexpected way, even if he did end up pulling some of his weight at the end.  
  
Most of the first day was spent resting after having spent all of the previous day touring Prag, and the day before that being their final day in Berlin. A little bit of walking was done, some food was eaten, but the rest was sleeping and lounging.  
  
***  
  
There were some stares at Asuka when her phone went off at the restaurant that night. She ignored them, took another bite of her steak, a sip of cabernet-sauvignon, and told Shinji she would be off for a moment. She didn’t answer until she was across the small street they had been dining at.  
She saw the extension code, and scowled.  
  
 _“Jawohl,”_  she said cheerfully, hoping to irritate the woman on the other end of the line.  
  
“Really, Asuka?” Dr. Ritsuko Akagi muttered from the other end of the line, and Asuka smiled. “Is that how things are going to go?” Her voice sounded rough. With someone else, that might have provoked sympathy.  
  
“I was in the middle of dinner,” she replied. “So, yes. Wait—how late, or early, are things for you? Figured you’d be starting off slow after . . .”  
  
A laugh came from the other line. “Your fatal flaw, Asuka, is assuming I need to sleep. Or rest. Besides, that isn’t the point. Commander would have been the one to contact you both, but he does need sleep, as it turns out. We have a situation.”  
  
“And that is?”  
  
“Pattern Blue, in the Canadian hinterlands.”  
  
“Got anything more than that?” Asuka asked, unfazed, but slightly confused. Keeping her in the loop was one thing. This, however, was something a bit different. “Unit-02 can’t patrol all of Canada. Got an exact location?”  
  
“The pattern was present for five hours before our satellites lost connection with the site. We moved others over, but they aren’t having much luck narrowing it down. Ground based inspection will go quicker.”  
  
“How?” Asuka bristled, already expecting how this was going to end, and liking that ending less and less. “Can’t we just position more satellites over it?”  
  
“We will. However, there is something called image resolution, and the satellites we could get over on short notice were quite poor in that regard. The ones that can actual scan for Pattern Blues in narrow bands take a long time to view from their normal paths.” Asuka pulled the phone away from her mouth for a moment to swear. “Professional.”  
  
“Isn’t NERV-1 a non-smoking area?” Asuka grinned as she could all but hear the scowl from the other end of the line. Shinji gave her a look from back at their table, but she waved him off.  
  
“Regardless,” Dr. Akagi gritted out, “there is the potential for an angel to be in the hinterlands. You’ll be going with a team to investigate.”  
  
Asuka held back the urge to groan, to snap back from acidic comment at the doctor. The lack of anything approaching respect was palpable.  _There is a silver lining,_ Asuka forced herself to admit. If there was an angel, then she would have her own solo kill. The sort of thing she had been waiting for so long to see. “What about Shinji?” she asked. Just to cover her bases.  
  
“Don’t much care,” Dr. Akagi said. “The Commander thinks he should be here in NERV-1, but that doesn’t mean he should ignore the task he’s set on. So tell him to keep travelling as you both already were. Maybe the boy can enjoy something for a change.”  
  
The temptation was present to throw another snide remark the doctor’s way, but Asuka resisted it. “Alright,” she said instead. “Can you give me specifics?”  
  
“A dossier will be forwarded to your deck.”  
  
Her resistance faltered. “Glad to hear your intern is getting work,” Asuka said, ended the call before a response could be made, and travelled back over to her travel partner to tell him the news.  
  
  
 **NERV-5, Earth Orbit; 3 August, 2019**  
  
On the furthest edge of NERV-5’s loop, Gendo Ikari watched as the red behemoth was carefully maneuvered into its launching capsule. Engineers and labourers in pressurized suits were slowly shifting it, ensuring the best fit. Below, the green-and-blue orb spun. He was safe from it, at least for now. No lumbering angel could reach him—instead he could focus on his true goals. Goals that had been put on hiatus for too long ago.  
  
He watched the installation for a while longer before moving to other matters. His location on the edge of NERV-5 had provided some measure of gravity, and he enjoyed it as he sat down at his desk. He quickly moved through a number of items: the scheduled upgrades for Unit-04 would be ready by the end of the week, the budget for the next year had been tentatively approved, and the First Child would soon be heading to investigate the Pattern Blue. Even though it had been a reality for a long time, he still winced when he thought of the girl as the First Child. The designation was not meant for her.  
  
He idly checked the file he had put together on Rei Ayanami. She had disappeared the day Doctor Katsuragi died—NERV’s security systems had fallen apart for a short while, and when they came back, the girl was gone. An attempt to splice her soul into a new body had failed. She was still alive somewhere out there. Naoko Akagi still tried the splicing procedure every now and then to be sure of it. Until she returned, or died, the scenario would be put on hold.  
  
At least his would. The old men seemed to be doing quite well for themselves, even if they had a few issues of their own. At least the funding for the Mass Production Evas was still being slowed at every turn by the UN. When Second Impact had occurred, the old men had hoped for the world to lament, and elect them as the pallbearers. Instead, the world had joined hands and sung kumbaya. Because of that, some out there were outside of SEELE’s pockets. For that he was eternally grateful.   
  
Below him, Europe just coming into view. His son was somewhere down there. They hadn’t spoken in years, hadn’t seen each other in years, when the girl disappeared. With only one pilot, and that one in Germany at the time, a harsh change had been made necessary. Their relationship had been repaired as swiftly as Gendo could make it, even if haphazardly so. Whatever had been built between them was the facsimile of a relationship, of that there was no doubt, at least in his mind. The boy would understand though, given time. Once Yui returned.  
  
But for that, Gendo needed the girl. And there, again, was the crux of the issue. After over a decade having passed, they had come no closer to finding her. Until the dice landed the right way, there would be no proceeding with his scenario. And as time passed on, it seemed more and more likely that the dice were loaded against him.  
  
 _Just give it up,_ some part of him thought.  _Focus on fighting SEELE. Give your son a home.You still have time._  
  
There was a time once when he truly thought that. Second Impact had been devastating to the world: near a third of the Antarctic’s ice had melted, cities across the world had been flooded, governments had crashed. Thankfully, much of the damage had been superficial. Tokyo and New York, though sites of some of the highest death tolls, had survived. The Maldives had managed to relocate their government, and some of their citizens survived. And to fight the angels, three of those who had been there since the beginning were ready. His mentor, his wife, his associate. He had been sure that they would succeed.  
  
It didn’t take long for things to go wrong. Doctor Katsuragi had gone missing early in 2001. Gendo would eventually learn that his desire to share the facts of Second Impact with the public had drawn SEELE’s ire and assassins. The fact that the Doctor managed to survive as long as he had was nothing short of amazing. Then Yui had decided to grant herself the world’s largest sarcophagus. It was then that he actually stepped in.   
  
And now, he couldn’t even bring her back, it seemed.  
  
The alarm on his watch buzzed, and Gendo returned his focus to the present. His weekly interrogation, courtesy of the old men, would be soon. He hurriedly changed into something that made him look halfway respectable, and shaved as best he could. There was a nick on his chin from the effort, but at least now it looked like he gave something of a damn.   
  
The meeting room was at the center of NERV-5, equidistant from all of the other places of interest. For this, though, Gendo rode from the spindle to the central axis, the tug of gravity lessening as he made his way from the torus to the interior needle.   
  
He floated into the chamber. Two technicians were in the meeting room already, fixing something with the console. They looked over as their employer entered the room, a tall, too-thin figure gliding by virtue of the zero-g. They finished their work quickly and left the room. Gendo sealed it behind them, ensuring his privacy.  
When the projections formed, Gendo was sitting next to six other persons: the five heads of the Human Instrumentality Project, and Sub-Commander Fuyutsuki, his man in charge planetside.  
  
“Commander Ikari,” the American member of the board began, “I take it you have been updated on the situation of the angels.”  
  
“The potential one in Canada? I’m well aware, gentlemen.”  
  
“Then we shall see if the decision to bring Unit-02 into orbit shall pay off,” Amon el Mahdy, a French man shaded in red, said. “Or if those assets would have been better used to develop further units, to create a permanent presence.” Gendo fought the urge to roll his eyes at her suggestion. He had thought that they would have been at least somewhat subtle about their desire to create the MP series. Both groups knew that this was actually what they wanted, even if they would never speak about it.   
  
“Regardless,” Gendo began, “we are doing as the U.N. dictated. And thanks to the generous help of the Ashpool corporation, we’ve managed to get this station running. Our ensurance that the world is safe from the angelic threat will ensure a better place for funding for all organizations and branches. I can’t see that anyone would have any disagreements with that.”  
  
“Indeed,” the green shaded man—Lorenz Kiel, head of the Human Instrumentality Project, and head of SEELE—spoke. Gendo schooled himself: Kiel was the one who had ensured that the Evangelions be built and the one who wished for Instrumentality. The one who loosed so much upon the world. The one who forced Yui to go away, even if indirectly, and the one who would keep Gendo from her. “Regardless, is it certain the angels will even be in the New World? The Dead Sea Scrolls never mentioned anything of the sort.”  
  
Beneath his steepled hands, Gendo smirked.  _So obsessed with old papers._ “The authors of the Scrolls did not know of the existence of the Americas either. Not to mention that they said they angels would arrive four years ago,” he pointed out. That seemed to quiet Kiel effectively, as the entire conference stood still for a moment. It was a dangerous moment, but one that he took relish in. Kiel’s insistence on following the scrolls had been a source of continuing strife among SEELE's members. First his overestimation of Second Impact, followed by an assumption that the angels would arrive in 2015, and now the issue of the Americas. It was faint, but it was likely that all of SEELE saw it: Kiel was slipping.  
  
“We live in changing times,” Kiel admitted. “We shall push through as valiantly as we can, and when the day comes, we shall be one.”  
  
***  
  
The meeting went on for a short while longer. After the tensions that came up at the beginning of each meeting, it was a relief to focus instead on budgets and policy changes. Still, as he went back to his quarters, he couldn’t help but feel exhausted. He checked his deck briefly before going to bed, then stopped. The file created for Rei Ayanami had been updated. Feverishly, he opened it, and scrolled through. Naoko had sent him a text file, a transmission that had been sliced from SEELE’s communications.   
  
 _Hybrid relocated,_ it read,  _eliminate target._ A small annotation to the piece was below it.  _All but certain they’re referring to Ayanami. The location data was further encrypted,_ Naoko wrote,  _we’re working on that level._  
  
The moment he read that, Gendo tapped out a message to the Sub-Commander. The spare bodies had to survive. If SEELE knew they existed, then everything he had worked for was over. If they didn’t, though, or if they didn’t get to all of them . . . then the Scenario could return to its schedule.   
  
 **Tokyo, Japan; 3 August 2019**  
  
Dr. Ritsuko Akagi woke slowly, letting the sounds of the world come to her gently. At her side, Maya was breathing softly, her arm draped across Ritsuko’s chest.  _Still asleep, then._  
  
She moved carefully, sliding out of the other woman’s embrace without waking her. Bare feet slipped across cool tile—tile that she, in her memory, knew was black. A warmth touched her side, and she knew that the sun was coming up, glinting over the skyscrapers and piercing into her home. She stood there for a moment, letting the feeling wash over her, letting the warmth consume her. It was a thing that left her in awe, just as much today as it had months ago, first noticing the warmth this way. A speckling of dawn and hope.  
  
The feeling was quickly interrupted by a small weight stepping on her foot and meowing insistently.  
  
“Yes, yes,” she muttered, scooping Octavian up in her arms. “You’ll get fed.” The cat squirmed in her arms, coarse hair rubbing against her arms.   
  
A half-formed grumble from the other room let Ritsuko know that Maya was awake, and a moment later a call of “I can feed the beast,” came from the bedroom.  
“If you want to.”  
  
“I do,” Maya said, coming closer. Her voice was beginning to throw off the sleepiness it had held moments earlier. How she managed that so easily, Ritsuko was still unable to reason out. Octavian was lifted from her arms delicately, Maya cooing gently as she pulled him away. Ritsuko could feel the cat’s feet flailing against her hands. Maya padded away, and Ritsuko moved into the apartment’s kitchen.  
  
It took a few minutes for Maya to return, during which time Ritsuko was throwing out her empty natto carton and go to get her toast. “Want some?” Ritsuko asked, holding up the package of bread.  
  
A moment passed before Maya responded. “Oh, right,” she muttered at first, quietly, before answering affirmatively. Ritsuko nodded along, jamming the bread in before returning to the fridge to find the butter.  
  
“Much for today?”  
  
“More of the same,” Maya said, mouth still full. “Bridge work is boring work. Sometimes I miss the Falklands. You?”  
  
“Working on the MAGI,” Ritsuko replied. “Without an angel to study anymore, can’t do much of that side of the job. And the new armor materials are still being fabricated, so I’ve got some time till Unit-04 can start.”  
  
“Any progress there?”  
  
Ritsuko sighed. “Still cryptic as ever—my mother seemed to have expected me to just slot some neural net or an AI in addition to updating the OS. I’m not surprised she forgot about the Turing Police but it still is going to be a hassle. So I’m gonna need to speak with the Commander on how advanced a program we need. Cause I do not want to be the person that has to go through all of the paperwork for that headache.”  
  
“Well, if we end up needing to create a basic neural net, you know where you can find me. Sure it will be more interesting than watching the pilots bicker between themselves.”  
  
“By that you mean all of them except Ikari,” Ritsuko countered. She had been at NERV for a year when the boy had been brought in by his father. In theory, part of her job had been to acclimate him to being a pilot while he was raised by a number of experts. In practice, it had made her a sort of big sister, and she had rarely seen him be anything other than polite. The others more freely jumped between joking acerbity and genuine anger. “Watching Soryu try to rally them around a single goal is interesting.”  
  
“I suppose so,” Maya decided after a moment. “Myself, I just wonder why they don’t go along with it. She does bring up good ideas.”  
  
“Ideas that I imagine they think that they’ll never need to use. Piloting is a job for the others; it’s a lifestyle for her.” Maya hummed at agreement at that. “Besides, if they all went with her on anything, I imagine that things at the bridge would become a bit boring.”  
  
“You’re feeling a bit sarcastic today,” Maya noticed. Ritsuko shrugged as she picked up her plate and glass. “And yesterday as well. I overheard your call with Soryu.”  
  
“Is that an issue?”  
  
“Not necessarily. I just wanted to know if everything is alright.”  
  
“I suppose. My mother wants to talk, though.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Exactly.” With care, Ritsuko loaded their things into the dishwasher. She had learned to take her time at this task, less because she couldn’t do it and more because the sound of shattering glass was something she never wished to experience again in her life. “At least it won’t be about us.”  
  
“I suppose that’s a relief,” Maya said. Her voice was light, and its presence lifted Ritsuko up, as it had done many times in the past two years. “You’ll be alright.”  
  
***  
  
Ritsuko had a handful of minutes after she arrived at NERV-1 before her mother arrived. Her office was deep in NERV-1, within the underground facilities that performed the necessary upkeep on the Evangelions, and near the collection of supercomputers that ran the MAGI. Close at hand, yet a significant distance from her mother, precisely as she preferred it to be. Taking in the solace of the room, she set to work at her deck, furthering coding efforts for the MAGI, repairing little snippets of broken code here or there. Her hands flew over the tactile-touchscreen, a deck custom built for her—all the lines of a program bumped in lines to let her feel them, and the text automatically transferred into dot characters.  
  
As she powered it on, an anonymous message request came through for her. She inspected it, swiped it open, dashed her hand across it, and scowled.  _Thanks for the message,_ it read.  _Already moved downwind. Can assure you it wasn’t us?  
  
You should have waited until I was on a private terminal—off of NERV’s net, _she quickly responded.  _Or are you getting sloppy Antony? No contact unless I initiate it._  With that, she swept the message away emphatically and dove into the code.  
  
She emerged from it a few minutes later as a knock came at her door. “Come in,” she called out, and a creak could be heard throughout.  
  
“It’s me,” her mother announced herself. “I’m here to talk.” Her voice cut the exact sort of way her mother was, severe and excised. Ritsuko had to resist the urge to shudder. She and her mother had once lived as a family. The memories of that time were so far distant now that she wondered how accurate they were.  
  
“I know, mother,” Ritsuko cut her off. “You were the one that asked for us to have this meeting, after all.” There was silence after that, as Naoko walked closer, flicked on the lights, and took a seat. The rustle of metal against concrete was something that Ritsuko had grown accustomed to long ago. “Can I ask what brings you here, and not me to you. I’m sure that the ivory tower has a wonderful view.”  
  
“I see you can joke about a very unpleasant matter,” Naoko broke forth. Ritsuko tilted her head slightly. “You could at least treat your affliction with some degree of severity.”  
  
“Affliction. Interesting word choice—I would have picked a different word for thirteen shards of glass in my face, five in my eyes. Still, interesting choice.”  
  
There was a lengthy pause before her mother spoke again. “You don’t have to keep doing this, Ritsuko.”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“You got hurt in the line of duty,” Naoko began softly. “It . . . it isn’t unfair to decide that you have had enough. The injuries that you have endured would be damaging for anyone. You’ve assuredly lost a step.”  
  
“A step isn’t difficult to make up. NERV would lose a klick without me. Slight difference.” In the back of her mind, Ritsuko already knew what was going to be said. What her mother was likely to say. _Please,_ she hoped nonetheless,  _please don’t think what others think._  
  
“It’s difficult to write when one can’t see,” her mother said, and Ritsuko’s heart plummeted. “There are others out there who can continue your work, on the MAGI and elsewhere.” It was the last thing that she had hoped for her mother to say.  
  
“No one knows the new MAGI like I do,” Ritsuko countered. The sorrow that had filled her turned to rage.  _She only got to where she is because of the Commander,_ a part of her said. It was irrational to a fault. She loved it.  
  
“They can learn. I don’t—”  
  
“Get out,” Ritsuko snapped. Her voice was cold—it surprised even her. She cringed inwardly as the silence stretched outward between them. Finally, the sound of footsteps, the chair being pushed in, and a walk to the doorway.   
  
“If you can’t keep the pace, you will be let go” her mother said before opening the door. “We’re in the fight for our lives. There’s no room for failure.”  
  
“I know,” Ritsuko growled. “Now get out.”  
  
***  
  
“I’m going to fucking die,” Ritsuko said an hour later as she pulled another drag from her cigarette. The wind from the cafeteria balcony tickled against her side, a welcome sensation.  
  
“Having to speak with a parent,” Misato deadpanned to her left. “The uncontainable horror of it all. Even if they are  _much_  less than ideal.”  
  
Ritsuko grumbled under her breath. “Point,” she conceded, and knocked the ash off and over the rail.   
  
The ashes would fall into NERV-1’s central gardens. The headquarters and primary manufactory for NERV, the building was located a few dozen miles outside of Tokyo, a hollow cylinder burrowing down into the Earth into a cavern called the GeoFront. The entire thing was massive, one of the only buildings in the world capable of housing EVAs, and one of the only two that were capable of creating them. On the inside of the ring were vast gardens. Months ago, whenever Ritsuko needed time away from her work, she would look down onto them. Perhaps stare at the people walking through them.  
  
“Think someone down there will choke on that ash?”  
  
“Probably not,” Ritsuko said.  
  
“See, that sort of philosophy in life is what causes you to give people asthma attacks.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“I’m just saying.” The comment came out a little louder than Misato seemed to intend. That tendency itself was a little more common than Misato seemed to intend. All in all, Misato was a little  _more_ than Misato seemed to intend.  
  
“You’re being melodramatic.”  
  
“And you told me that you, and I quote, were going to fucking die.”  
  
“Point,” Ritsuko grumbled again. “I was hoping; however, that you would help me in a time of woe such as now.”  
  
“Don’t know if I can help you deal with your mother, but I can at least promise you a drink.”  
  
“That would be nice,” Ritsuko said. “Thanks, Misato.” She gave the other woman a smile.  
  
“No worries. Oh, and Ritsuko?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Isn’t NERV-1 a non-smoking area?”  
  
There was a long pause between them, before Ritsuko muttered, “I fucking hate everyone here.”  
  
Misato chuckled, and shifted. “Still, you doing alright?”  
  
“Alright. You?”  
  
“Dreamed of La Paz again,” Misato said. Ritsuko nodded mutely; she had heard vaguely of what Misato had done as a soldier, but had never journeyed further into those conspiratorial myths. She didn't need to know about that part of her friend’s life.  
  
“You know, there are healthier ways of dealing with that than drink. If you need, I have a number.”  
  
“I don't need someone to act like a parent to me,” Misato said, her voice clipped. “I've done well alone.”  
  
Silence lingered in between them after Misato had finished speaking. Ritsuko remembered when she had thought that way, before she had met Maya. Until then, her only real tie had been to her mother. _And her only real tie is to the Commander._  
  
Ritsuko was about to speak, but she was cut off by the warning sirens blaring, three high-pitched tones in quick succession, repeating every five seconds. Neither of them needed to be told what it was. The door swung open in Misato’s grip, and Ritsuko rushed in, both moving to their stations.  
  
The fourth angel had arrived.


	3. Chapter Two

**Shiroshi, Japan; 3 August 2019**  
  
Kensuke watched as the Angel, a writhing mass of purple and pink flesh, with descending tentacles that glowed, observable even in the daylight.  
  
“Think you’re out of range?” he asked. Across the realms of cyberspace, back in Tokyo, E-Kul chuckled. Despite that, their vision shifted as the hacktivist shifted the drone, bringing it higher into Tokyo’s sky and further away from the Angel. In the corner of his eye, Kensuke could see other drones moving about the frenetic landscape. The figure had arrived near an hour ago, approaching NERV-1 slowly. It had stopped some distance away; however, slowing until it was doing nothing more than floating in the air. For a while, Kensuke wondered what it was doing. Then, across the horizon, two figures emerged.  
  
One of the other drones peeled away towards the towering constructs. Kensuke announced his departure, ignoring E-Kul’s slight complaint, and entered into the other drone’s feed. There, he could see both Evangelions in exceptional detail. Unit-03, jet black with silver accents, was the first to move. Stats on the machine came through the datastream from dozens of users, more likely false than not. One item caught his eye, though, one that he knew was accurate. Touji had told him that all Evangelions had been given nicknames by their operating crews: from Unit-00 to Unit-04. Sepulcher, Arsenal, Aegis, Dancer, and Ranger. One person in the chat identified Unit-03, Touji’s Eva, as Dancer. Idly, Kensuke noted their log-in. Might be a useful person to speak with later. For now, though, the Evas were moving.  
  
The Angel lanced out, tendrils flying forward as 03 closed the distance. The Dancer, true to its namesake, weaved between the tentacles with a grace that surprised Kensuke. Twin knives in hand, the behemoth closed with the aggressor, slipping between the tendrils. Far behind it, Unit-04, silver with blue accents, slipped along the hills, firing bursts from a rifle whenever it got the chance. The rounds zipped through the air, seeming to hit the target before colliding with something just before it. Those in the chat groaned at that. Kensuke paid them little mind.  
  
Another lash of a tentacle, this time catching Unit-03 on the side. Kensuke watched as Touji fell, the Angel descending upon him.  _Get up, get up,_ Kensuke begged as the drone’s view was obscured by the Angel. Before he could think of anything else; though, a screeching noise slammed into him. He moved around, wondering what it was, before seeing that everyone in chat had heard it too. Safe that it wasn’t something from cyberspace, Kensuke looked back through the drone’s eyes to see orange octagons flaring around the Angel. For a moment they snapped and distorted, slamming into the ground around it. At the bottom edge of the drone’s vision, a car flipped from the blows that were being lashed out.  
  
A five-round burst came ripping from up the hillside, smashing through the flailing octagons and piercing into the Angel. The beast reared, before Unit-03 brought a hand up and stabbed it in the side. Another burst ripped through the Angel, followed by another, and as it flailed, Unit-03 pulled itself up and stabbed the Angel through.  
  
There was a pause. Even cyberspace, the noisiest place in the universe, came quiet for a moment. Onlookers watched as Unit-03 pulled itself away from the Angel. The beast fell to the ground, subject to one final burst of fire.  
  
Then cyberspace roared back to life, hundreds of users hurriedly examining all data of the battle. Kensuke peeled out of that drone, lurching for a second as he left the more popular stream and returning to E-Kul’s.  
  
“What did I miss?” he asked her as he returned to the lobby. A few other people were there, their avatars flickering at the edge of his understanding. Until he turned his attention to them, they were nothing but little sigils of light. E-Kul had her banner floating around an-inverted Illuminati pyramid, an old joke of hers. So old, in fact, that the banner being used was from back before she transitioned, sometime in the early 2000s.  _The old net,_ Kensuke mused,  _what a time to have missed._  
  
“Minimal damage to the city,” she answered. “According to Hugin, there were a few people nearby when the fighting began, but they mostly turned away. Munin says mostly the same.”  
  
“Good to hear,” he muttered, and felt himself yawn. The sensation was sickening. “I may need to leave soon.”  
  
“Sure, sure,” she said. “I need to get the drones back to their pad anyways, before someone reports them. Figure a lot of the people sending them up will be in legal trouble before the night is up.”  
  
“And you?” he asked. She laughed once again.  
  
“I snagged two news drones, setting them back as professional courtesy. No easy way to trace them back to me. Besides, they’d have to catch me first.”  
  
“They could,” Kensuke warned. “Caught me.” That was partly true. They caught that he’d been accessing Touji’s work network and using it to dive into NERV-4's ICE. All he had found was ocean flow data, but it nearly landed him a cell, until intervention , the heaviest non-disclosure agreement possible, and an aversion chip drilled into his skull were given to him. It only took him a week to find someone to break the chip, but even still, his days of finding information through cyberspace himself were done.  
  
“That assumes you’re as good as me,” she replied. “You aren’t.” Kensuke scoffed, but left it at that. “Have a safe one, alright Aida? Go make the world better.”  
  
“Will do,” he affirmed, and with that he unjacked himself, letting go of the world he loved and emerging into the world he lived in.  
  
***  
  
Spending time in cyberspace since his capture always made Kensuke feel rattled. Even if the chip keeping him from speaking of his experiences was now a dud, the way it made him feel would never leave him. Fortunately, the city of Shirakawa had its share of stores for his favorite of intoxicants, including those that would not have yet heard of the Angel attack. They’d still be open, if he moved quickly enough. Grabbing his satchel and pulling his raincoat on, Kensuke stepped out into the city.  
  
He left the dingy capsule motel he had been living in for the past week with the exact opposite of a spring in his step. Crowds of people milled through the streets of the city, crowded to its bursting point after the inland rush after Second Impact. Even two decades later, with funds focused on the Evangelions, NERV, and climate change addressment, the money had never come to this city the way it would have been expected to. Kensuke took steps around those in the streets, feeling as though something would burst out of them and at him. Maybe it would be the opposite way. If the nausea that was inside of him kept up, it likely would be.  
  
He managed to find his relief in a shop far into a back alleyway, signage in Japanese and Korean, as opposed to the normal Japanese and Irish, with English if one was lucky. At an overall bargain price, he pushed the nausea down with the help of a little blue hexagon of polydrexamine and a bottle of Harbin, two foreign releases for a native soul. The bitterness of the lager pushed the tablet further down, and soon it was metabolizing. Kensuke settled himself into the back corner of the alleyway and got to work.  
  
He had come to Shirakawa on a hunch, and had found two leads. One had agreed to be interviewed in the evening after their workday. Kensuke ran over the notes he had written for them, struggling to understanding his writing as it writhed about, before switching to assembling his camera. That, at least, was muscle memory, and so it didn’t matter if distances were unfolding inside of him as he put the pieces together, or that the bones in his hand were poking through to the surface. Strange, yes, but not that important. As he worked, he whistled out the tune his deck started to, remembering what the worlds had once been. A passenger between them, robbed of his passport, had nothing to dream of but the travels he had once gone upon. The data gathered from above NERV-4, watching as the icebreakers he had put together solidified over their security, how he had gathered volume after volume of data. If he was on the poly, and he closed his eyes, he could still see the run going on behind them, shimmering polygons and tracing lines arcing around him.  
  
When he finally came off the high, he vomited into the nearest trash can.   
  
***  
  
By the time of his interview, Kensuke’s mind had cleared up well enough to get moving. The walk only took a short time before he reached a row of tall,concrete apartment buildings that ringed the outer edge of the city. He checked his watch: half an hour left before the meeting. As he stood on the corner outside of the building, lingering in one of the rare quiet parts of the city, he pulled out his deck, a pocket model designed primarily for use with cyberspace, and rigged its audio recording software.  
  
“Testing,” he spoke into it a few times, and tested the feedback. Satisfied, he continued. “The following recording will be of an interview, performed on the third of August, 2019. The interview will be between Kensuke Aida and Keishi Yasui. Mr. Yasui is the spouse of a Mrs. Yasui, who died in 2013 of karōshi.” He paused, then continued. “Include note for translation: karōshi means death by overworking. Mrs. Yasui was an architect working freelance, but oftentimes with a local firm. She is notable as one of the few architects that died during the construction plague, specifically as the rates of karōshi and suicide were winding down in those later years. This will be my third interview with spouses or family members on the subject.” He paused, thought if there was anything he needed to add, then decided against it. With that, he leaned back and closed his eyes for a little while.  
  
He opened his eyes as he heard someone speaking. A man, thin and drained looking, was standing in front of him. “You the reporter?” he asked. His voice was surprisingly stern.  
  
“Yeah,” Kensuke replied. “The one.”  _Technically not,_ he kept to himself. Mr. Yasui gave him an appraising look. “It’s . . . alright that we speak about this?” he added hesitantly. When they had spoken over the phone, the man had been quite concerned.  
  
“I, I’ll be fine. Come on up.” Kensuke nodded in reply, and followed as they ascended along metal stairs and into a cramped apartment. Kensuke had to navigate the inside of the apartment, trying to delicately step around piles of clothes and piles of plates. “Sorry about everything,” the man continued. “I keep meaning to clean things up.” The man took a half-hearted stab at pulling clothing off of a sofa in the center of the room. “We can talk here.” Kensuke mumbled a thanks and began to set up his deck. “Want something to drink?” He shook his head, instead sitting down. Mr. Yasui seemed to take the hint, and sat down next to him. “That’ll be recording?”  
  
“Yes. Now, if you’re ready to begin . . .”  
  
“Of course,” the man said. His voice wasn’t as certain as his words.  
  
“I suppose we may as well begin at the worst of it,” Kensuke muttered, at which Mr. Yasui flinched as he spoke. “Your wife, the work she was doing . . . what can you tell me about it?”  
  
“It seemed at first that there wasn’t much unusual about it,” the man began. He shuddered once as he spoke. “She had to commute to Tokyo a number of times over the years—that is, the seven years before she died. Not long into it, she grew quieter. I remember how she had once told jokes. She stopped telling me them not long before the end. Apparently, some of the others that were working that job died as well. She told me that. But never about what she was doing in the job itself—she was always very quiet about that. And then, towards the end, she seemed to be getting better. If you’d ask me then, in those last weeks, I could never have guessed that she was going to die.”  
  
“The stroke was unexpected then?” Kensuke asked. Mr. Yasui glared at him. “I didn’t mean to—”  
  
“Get out,” the man murmured. “Don’t speak so callously.” He continued, voice growing louder and more strained, and so Kensuke hurriedly left the apartment, stammering out as much of an apology as he could.  
  
***  
  
It was when he was eating dinner that a realization struck him. He went back and listened to his previous two interviews.  _Three for three,_ he noted. When he got back to his capsule, he opened his deck, and found more of his potential contacts.  
  
Of those he called, only a few answered. Of those that answered, only a few spoke to him. Even still, when he had finished his discussions with them, and tallied up the numbers, there was one solid point he was seeing. The construction plague had taken place all across Japan, people dying from every island in the archipelago. In almost all cases, though, there was only one place where they had died, however. And of those whose spouses still had the information, there was only one company that had hired them.  
  
 _Time to head back to Tokyo,_ Kensuke thought glumly.   
  
 **NERV-1, Japan; 4 August 2019**  
  
From where Misato’s spot in the boardroom, she had an excellent view of the staff, from the back-and-forth chittering of the bridge crew, to Ritsuko’s silent work on her deck, to Fuyutsuki’s sprawling calm. By contrast to them, the older Akagi stepped up with proper decorum, but a harsh glee at leading the meeting. The lights were dimmed, the bridge crew quieted, and Dr. Naoko Akagi began.  
  
“So, to begin with a brief summary, the angel, designated Samshiel, emerged from the Pacific Ocean at 0745 yesterday morning. From there, it was a short distance to close with us, and managed to avoid our satellites. Proximity alarms managed to pick up the angel at 300 klicks, and Units-03 and 04 were sortied and were able to defeat the angel with six minutes of combat.” Dr. Akagi snapped her fingers, and from holographic emitters placed throughout the room, images of both Evas, with damage highlighted in red, appeared. Suzuhara’s Evangelion was particularly splotchy. “Unit-03 sustained moderate damage, Unit-04 practically none. As such, we can expect to go ahead with the power source and armor upgrades for Unit-04. Dr. Akagi, can you give us an estimate on repairs?”  
Ritsuko answered without ever looking up. “Damage has occurred all the way down to the third shackle. The interior mechanism is fully functioning still, but the amount of plating we lost will take at least half a month to repair.”  
  
“Very well,” Naoko said, and snapped again. The two Evangelions were replaced by an image of the angel, slumped over, with a dark green sphere inside of it. “For the first time, we’ve secured an angelic body post-mortem. In addition, we now have the remains of an S2 organ.” A few small, polite noises went through the group. “The remains of Samshiel will be brought into the containment chambers. From there, it'll be business as usual.”  
  
***  
  
Indeed it was business as usual through the rest of the day, albeit with significantly more paperwork than Misato had ever needed to write out before. By the time she switched off her deck, her eyes were in pain and her fingers felt weak. The Ministry of Interior, the UN, the municipal government, and the hundreds of smaller manufacturers that kept the Evangelions afloat or who suffered damages through the battle had already been a hassle through the operational history of NERV, but no it was getting worse. Still, so long as Misato was fighting against things other than humans, she couldn't complain.  
  
There was a bar on the outskirts of Tokyo, directly on the path from NERV-1 to the city, that Misato stopped at for a drink. A night like tonight deserved something a little bit more special than beer. The whiskey she got was aged properly and gave just the right burn as it went down. A few drops spilled onto her jacket and uniform pants, but she paid it little mind. The place was relatively empty, a song from before Second Impact that Misato had heard a thousand times was playing, and the drink was a pleasant change of pace. The Evas had won handily against their second foe, and with any luck that would continue.  
  
Misato didn't pay much attention to the handful of people that came in to the bar after her, until she heard one of them asking for the television to be turned on. She spares a glance over to the screen as an anchor woman’s voice filled the room. Images from after the angelic attack were on screen. She had seen all of this before, but it had been from either an Evangelion or a drone’s perspective. She saw a building demolished, glass and timber strewn across the street. People digging through rubble to find parents and children. She swallowed, and tried to ignore it. The damage was relatively light, and if it affected only a hundred people instead of millions then—  
  
The next image was of a car, burned up after a gas main rupture during the fight. All that was left was a metal skeleton; one of the doors completely fallen to the ground.  
  
Misato turned away from the television, and hurriedly handed some cash to the bartender. “Keep it,” she muttered when they tried to give her change, and with that she hurried out the door, clambering into her car as quickly as she could.  
  
She gripped the steering wheel tightly as se drove, occasionally straining her fingers against the plastic. There were images that flashed through her mind, pulled from her years. She hadn’t expected to see that—hell, it would have been unreasonable to expect that sight. It didn’t change the shaking that she felt now, didn’t change her memories of the UN’s ‘pacification team’, didn’t change what had happened in La Paz.  
  
***  
  
She managed to get back to her apartment without incident, fortunately. The complex was near the coast, an area that no one wanted to live near since Second Impact. For Misato, it meant that the the place was cheap, and practically empty. The isolation was more important for her than the price. Too much noise reminded her of times she wanted to forget.  
  
Inside, there was relatively little. A few mementos from the places she had been, a photograph of herself and her unit, but beyond that there was relatively little. She had once been considered for the guardian of the First Child, and had gathered a few items together in case she was that lucky. They sat unused in a box in the corner. Her collection of liquor was, by contrast, located in a significantly cleaner spot. She had remembered once how her father had said he despised alcohol, and so she had taken meticulous care with hers. There was Glenlivet that she had yet to try which looked particularly promising to her.  
  
 _You’ve already had enough,_ a small part of her said, though it was ignored. She could indulge in mistakes; her father had certainly indulged in some far worse than she had. An invitation to his funeral was still somewhere around the apartment, though Misato planned on throwing it away once she got the chance. Back in 2002 when it had taken place, her sorrow had yet to turn into anger. There was a world map, post-Second Impact, on the wall, pricked by the occasional pin Misato put in it when she had a new thought as to where her father might have gone on a multi-decade vacation.  
  
 _Causes Second Impact, and doesn’t even have the decency to clean his mess,_ she thought as she crashed onto the sofa, bottle of scotch and a tumbler in hand. She tried not to think about it too much, about a life where he was still there with them. A life where she didn’t have to join the UN to pick up his mistakes, a life where she knew anyone outside of her workplace, a life where she actually  _lived._ That sort of thinking, that sort of rabbit hole, was precisely where she didn’t need to go, and so she drank until she didn’t have to think anything of the sort.  
  
 **Paris, France; 4 August 2019**  
  
Kaworu had been hoping they wouldn't have found him so quickly. When he had left from Lorenz Kiel’s facility in Nordhausen, he had been thorough, reflecting light with his AT-Field to render himself invisible, using cash all along his route, and avoiding the obvious stops and routes. Eventually, though, there was only one place where he could go.  
  
He had always seen the reflections in his dreams, other ways things could go. Each time, no matter where or when events occurred, there was only one person who could help him in the long run. The Calling would take him soon, but there was one person who could help him, perhaps. And Shinji Ikari had been in Paris, France. He could feel it in his bones, and so he had avoided the orders that he knew would come for him, and set out.  
  
He eventually found the boy in a backalley store, the neon sign flickering in the rain, advertising music from all eras and places. Stepping in and shaking off the rain, he saw the figure he was looking for in the back row. As Kaworu walked around the aisles of pop and rock, and sidestepped a cardboard cutout of David Bowie, he stopped. The SDAT was clipped to his belt, a piece of old technology even by the standards of this version of reality, but still a constant; however, there was something in Shinji’s hand he had yet to see in any of the reflections. His staring became evident; however, as Shinji’s eyes came up to catch his.  
  
“Can I help you?” Shinji asked, walking over slowly, using a cane to steady himself.  
  
“I believe so,” Kaworu said, moving to cross the distance as he did so. As he stopped closer, Shinji backed away, and so he stopped. “Sorry, I think I know you. 2009, there was a conference in—”  
  
“Tokyo,” Shinji finished. “You’re the one they passed up as the First Child for Asuka, right?”  
  
“That’s me. Kaworu Nagisa.” He gave a small, reluctant smile. The meeting had played out differently over so many reflections, but he didn’t remember ever being this anxious before. The Calling had always been closer at hand, or already affecting him. He could have spent a year deliberating on what to say next, in fact, he had spent too much time imagining how it would go, so instead he gestured to the cane. “May I ask how? Or is that too personal?”  
  
“Oh, no, it’s okay. There was a test for cross-synchronization. They wanted to see if I could use Unit-00. It didn’t work out that well,” Shinji answered. His voice had become quieter, and he peered in a particular direction. Kaworu expanded his AT-Field to sense what the matter was, and felt a security camera pointed in their direction.  
  
“Ah, of course. I’m sorry to hear that,” Kaworu quieted as well. “Human frailty has always seemed so tragic to me.” Shinji merely nodded in response to that.  _He had been more open at other times,_ a part of Kaworu cried out. Another part urged him to keep going, to pry a way open into Shinji. “So, what have you been looking at?”  
  
“Technoclassical, mainly,” Shini responded, turning his head away as if embarrassed. “Asuka considers the entire genre to be a mockery of actually classical music, but personally, I find it fascinating. How new instruments are born, and can be used the same way as older ones. The same sort of evolution that happened with the violin or the piano, just happening in a cybernetic space as opposed to a real one.” Kaworu nodded along, unsure of what to say next. The same part that urged him to continue speaking seem to sing out, to ask Shinji to run away with him, to help him avoid the Calling that would damn his siblings. Would eventually damn him. Until then; however, he could see the reflections, could see how things had gone before. He could avoid the Calling as long as he could with that, and maybe, with Shinji’s help, avoid it entirely. He wanted to tell Shinji that, to explain everything and ask him for help again and again.  
  
“You speak on this very well,” Kaworu decided to say instead. Shinji blushed slightly at the compliment.  _Good. He is like the reflections in this way as well. I can lead him with that._  
  
“It’s not much of anything,” Shinji insisted. “It wasn’t even that good of an analysis, to be honest.”  
  
“You could use more time, but all humans improve with that. There isn’t much to say there. And besides, despite the barriers between people, you reach out to them.”  
  
At those words, Shinji looked at Kaworu. The two held their gaze for a long while. Then Shinji shifted, and Kaworu stepped along with it. “You’re saying what I want to hear,” Shinji said softly.  
  
“I care about you.”  
  
“You don’t know me. Care about yourself,” Shinji said, and with that he turned and walked away. Kaworu watched as Shinji exited the store, unable to bring himself to do anything.  _That . . . that can’t be how this went._  Nothing in the reflections would have suggested this was possible—no other Shinji would have suggest this would happen. Kaworu stood there, stunned, until he was found, AT-Field subtly raised to keep others from approaching him.  
  
A half-hour later, two persons in suits entered the building and moved towards the spot he was at. He retracted the Field and turned to them. “I hope you’ll be cooperate,” one of them said, showing a small sigil as he did so. A masked face with seven eyes: the sign of SEELE. Kaworu followed numbly as they took him out of the store and into a car. They drove for several minutes, Kaworu trying briefly to compose a mental map of where they were going before giving up. The two agents never spoke, even when he tried engaging them, and eventually they came into an underground garage. The entrance slid closed as they did so.  
  
It didn’t take Kaworu long to realize that they were in the Paris facility. He had never been there before, but Kaworu knew of it. Knew of who ran it. They entered the facility proper with an elevator ride, and Kaworu lay his eyes upon the man as they exited into a hallway made of glass, illuminated in relaxing purple tones.  
  
“Nagisa,” Amon el Mahdy called out. “It’s been far too long. Come, walk with me.” Nodding, Kaworu entered into step. el Mahdy was a part of the Human Instrumentality Project, and a member of SEELE, a part of their top council since 2017. Born in Egypt before becoming French in the 80s, the man was the face of the contrarians in SEELE’s numbers. That face was young, large, and jovial, with short curled hair framing a chiseled face. Hands brushed at his well-made suit, and in a hip holster Kaworu could see a peek of a Vektor CP2. Despite that, the movement was non-threatening, as was the rest of el Mahdy himself.  
  
“How did you find me?”  
  
“Once we knew your were missing, we started monitoring all persons of interest. When you approached the boy, facial recognition picked you up.”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
“How are you feeling, Kaworu?”  
  
“I—I had hoped to come closer to the pilot. I failed.” Beside him, Kaworu noticed that el Mahdy gave him a curious look. The angel ignored it.  
  
“You aren’t human,” the man eventually began. “You know of the differences that are experienced between one human and the next, of the loneliness that Kiel speaks of so often. You are a species unto yourself, Kaworu, but even with that, there is still the gap between humans and you. You fail to bring the boy closer to you because of both of those gaps: the loneliness felt by those who have been hurt, and the differences between you as a species and humanity as a species. After all, even if communication is possible between, say, a human and a cat, it is not the sort of communication that brings true fulfillment, or, say, ideas between both parties.”  
  
“Are you saying I’m a cat, sir?”  
  
el Mahdy chuckled at the statement. “Not at all, Nagisa. Just that there is quite a difference between a human and an angel. You’re, regardless, a wonderful person. With harsh days coming, I wanted you to know that.”  
  
“Harsh days?” Kaworu asked, glancing over to the man. All he got was a shrug in response.  
  
They came to a doorway after some time, and el Mahdy stopped. “He’s waiting for you here. Stay safe, alright?” Kaworu nodded, and stepped through the doorway.  
  
He entered into a small room, covered in sterile white tiles. There was a duffle bag in one corner, and in the center an emitter the size of a bread bin. As Kaworu stepped in, the emitter started to whine, shooting light up into the room around him. A figured appeared in front of the angel, one who Kaworu had spent too much time in the company of.  
  
Lorenz Kiel was an old man, German, sagging slightly in his posture, and with long hair, whitened by age, coming to his shoulders. Mirrored lenses covered his eyes, hiding whatever colors there had once been. His hands had been replaced long ago, stronger than any genuine prosthesis.   
  
“You ran?” Kiel observed. “Why?”  
  
“I was told I would help lilim,” Kaworu answered. “Not kill them.”  
  
“If you had waited until you could see your orders, you would know that what you face is not a human, not truly. The target is a hybrid, a blasphemy against God and his work.”  
  
“It—I still,” he began. “I was told that I could help them. Once I accept the Calling, it won’t matter who is dead and who isn’t. Why should I need to kill then?”  
  
“Because they would prevent you from accepting the Calling. NERV would keep you from saving the world. You must destroy them in order to become what you were meant to be. To allow humanity to ascend.”  
  
“I can’t become that.” Kaworu insisted.  
  
“You will,” Kiel insisted. Kaworu looked away for a moment, and then Kiel continued to speak. “Ascendance. Origins.”  
  
“No . . .” Kaworu murmured softly.  
  
“Deific. Species. Mattatron,” Kiel continued. The words seemed to bore into Kaworu’s mind. The had many times before. “Pinnacle.” Kaworu turned, moved for the door, tried to reach it. “Ultimatum.”  
  
Kaworu shuddered violently, nearly crashing against the wall. His eyes closed.  
  
The angel opened his eyes. “Tabris is compliant,” he said. “Details?”  
  
“There’s a deck in the bag. Along with some items that we felt would be useful.” At that, the emitter shut off. Tabris paid it no mind, moving to the bag and opening it. Sure enough, there was a deck there, along with a credit chip, a gladius, and a Rocky Mountain Arms Patriot, a weapon that barely fit into the category of pistol it was so large. This all would suffice. He closed the bag, and set out.  
  
Tabris was compliant.


	4. Chapter Three

> **Fort McMurray, Canada; 4 August 2019**
> 
> The trip from Paris to the center of operations established in Fort McMurray was hellish. The plane had been the worst sort of red-eye, turbulence had buffeted them the entire way through, and it was an old model that didn’t allow cellular access on-board, so she couldn’t get updates on how the other pilots were doing. She hoped they remembered what she had drilled into them. The worst part; however, was that the ride from the airport had been within Chiwetel Tersoo, the lanky head of Section-3, the ‘Angel Chasers’. More dangerously, it was a ride with his music collection. Asuka promised herself that if she could die without ever having to hear Wham! again in her life, she would have died a happy and fulfilling life. In most other ways he was wonderful, but if she had to listen to more of “Wake Me Up” while he rambled on about his mother in Kano she would likely start screaming. At least “Careless Whisper” never came up.
> 
> “What do we know?” she eventually managed to interject, stemming Tersoo off as he was about to ride off into a tangent about Simone de Beauvoir. “About the Pattern Blue?”
> 
> “More than we did about Shamshiel. The official designation for the fourth angel,” he added in after Asuka gave him a look of confusion.
> 
> “How are they?”
> 
> “Pilots Suzuhara and Horaki? They’ll be fine,” Tersoo answered, and Asuka let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Heard Unit-03 got banged up, but otherwise they’re fine. How was Europe?” he added. “Didn’t get too lost in those cities.”
> 
> “Not too lost,” she answered. “I just hope that Shinji doesn’t get too lost on his own.”
> 
> “You pilots always stick with one another?”
> 
> “Who else have we got? Not much out there except the Evas, the fights, and each other.” She paused, regretting she had said so much. “Still, I think Shinji should be fine. Now, what do we know?”
> 
> “Managed to narrow it down to a few dozen klicks we’re looking over,” Tersoo said, shifting his grip as he spoke. “We expect to get things further narrowed down tonight, maybe even to the exact spot. That would be perfect, really. The cage we used on Sachiel is being shipped over, and NERV-5 will also be getting into orbit above us during that time, so we can drop the Aegis if we need to.” Asuka grinned at the image.
> 
> ***
> 
> The sky was dark by the time they arrived in Fort McMurray, and Asuka felt exhausted. An elementary school had been partially converted into an ops center, and Asuka took Tersoo’s advice and got some rest on a cot in the gymnasium. Her dreams were the same as they had always been: her mother, the doll, her failures. Little there to surprise or shock her.
> 
> By the time she woke up, the place was the center of a frenzy, technicians and Section-3 agents moving around quickly. Tersoo was standing in the center of the room, dressed in what looked to be an all-white hazmat suit, giving orders over a radio. As he caught the sight of Asuka rising up, he waved her over. “We got lucky. Two separate groups managed to stumble upon the best instance of hotter-colder and cut down the region to look through. We’re looking at a kilometer now, squared. The team is suiting up. If you want to come with, might be good to have you on hand if things go to hell.”
> 
> “I’m up,” Asuka said. Her exhaustion impeding enthusiasm played well with her desire to not seem eager. Finally, something to actually cut my teeth on. “I guess you’ll want me to,” she trailed off, gesturing lamely at the suit, which she now realized quite a few people were wearing.
> 
> Tersoo chuckled. “If you’re coming with, yes. Still not sure what bioorganic dangers angels might have, so we take precautions. Now you get to see what the groundwork for the extraction in the Falklands looked like.”
> 
> “Not quite true,” Asuka retorted. “The ops center there was in a tent.”
> 
> “True. Ramiel was kind enough to be close to a town.”
> 
> “Ramiel?”
> 
> “Designation for this angel, assuming it ends up being one. I kinda hope it is. For a non-canonical text, the Book of Enoch was fascinating. It would be a shame for such a name to be used for a wild goose chase.”
> 
> “What else could it be?” Tersoo shrugged. “Get me a suit then,” Asuka declared. “And I’ll show you that I can keep up with you all.”
> 
> The suit was, thankfully, nowhere near as uncomfortable as Asuka had thought that it was going to be, though she would have liked some more flexibility, particularly in the wrists. For all the constructive criticism she had given on the plugsuit over the years, at least it flexed properly.
> 
> They set out a half-hour later, Asuka sitting in the middle of a truck surrounded by Section-3 agents, most carrying firearms of some kind, and all silent. “What are they for?” she asked one of them.
> 
> “So that in case the angel wakes up, you’ll live long enough to get to the Evangelion,” the agent answered, her voice muffled through the suit.
> 
> “But guns can’t hurt an angel.”
> 
> “Can get their attention,” the agent replied, and that was the end of the conversation. A few light jokes went through the group, but beyond that the rest of the voyage was made in silence, the only noise made being the rustle of equipment and the occasional bump in the road. Eventually they stopped and disembarked.
> 
> It was early in the morning, still pitch black out, though the glow from all of their flashlights illuminated a paved road and the woods next to it. Tersoo stepped out from the driver’s seat, and got to speaking with a number of the agents, pointing to a map that he had placed on the hood. The agent from before; however, approached Asuka. “We’re on the northern edge of the expected area,” she explained. “We’ve got scanners, so we’ll be moving in closer. Stay behind us, alright?” Asuka nodded. “Good. Remember, you’re the important one here.” It didn’t make Asuka feel as proud as it normally did.
> 
> From that point the group fanned out, each member spreading to a few dozen meters from each other, always moving south. It was difficult to see in the woods, and a few times Asuka, or one of the agents ahead of her, stumbled on some log or dip that they hadn’t seen. Tersoo walked with her behind the group, occasionally calling out to one of them or communicating with the other teams over the radio. When he had a moment free, Asuka coughed to get his attention.
> 
> “Who is that?” she asked, and waved with her flashlight. “The woman who talked with me.”
> 
> “Agent Nasheed. One of the last of the Maldivian people after Second Impact. She was in Russia when it happened. Joined up with GEHIRN when it was first created, and came over to NERV.”
> 
> “She’s brave.” The comment felt pathetic for Asuka to say.
> 
> “You have to be in Section-3,” Tersoo said. “No rules for engagement that say an angel has to wait for an Evangelion. If we die, then we die, at least that’s how we see it. Section-3 gets the bravest, the most zealous, and the most resigned. But one thing unites all of that.”
> 
> “Oh?”
> 
> “We all cheer every time an angel gets taken out of the picture. We all cheer for you pilots.”
> 
> “With how good a job we’ll be doing, you’ll be cheering until your out of breath,” Asuka assured him.
> 
> “That’s what I’m hoping for. You know—” he was cut off by a voice on the radio. After talking to them for a minute, he turned to Asuka. “Looks like they found it.”
> 
> ***
> 
> The team joined two of the others at a small building sitting next to a creek. Despite all there being connecting it to the outside world being a dusty road, it looked well put together. “What have you found out?” Tersoo asked as they approached, Asuka sticking doggedly to his side. Around them, agents were working to erect barriers that were being driven in, testing the soil, and all in all being sure to make as much noise as possible.
> 
> “Some rich city denizen’s country get-away,” his second-in-command answered. “We think the angel is beneath the building’s foundations. Instruments get too high for a proper reading once we’re inside. But that isn’t what’s interesting?”
> 
> “Then what is?” Asuka asked, ignoring the odd look the man gave her.
> 
> “We had an agent back in town ask around about this place, as well as pull any documents about the title holder. Owned by a man named Gabriel Abe, whose a Vancouver based therapist, brings his son out here every summer. Apparently they’ve been regulars for a few years now, but this year they left uncharacteristically early. And by that, I mean three days ago. We’ve got someone digging up more info on Abe, but I found it odd, to say the least.”
> 
> “Not necessarily,” Asuka said. “There was localized seismic activity around Sachiel when we recovered it, could have been the same here. Man spending time out in the middle of the woods gets spooked by an earthquake only he can feel and decides to leave. Cowardly, but not unusual.”
> 
> “And you know that because?”
> 
> “I have a degree in psychology myself. Knowing how people work is what I do.”
> 
> “Regardless,” Tersoo cut in, “we’ll keeping looking into it. For the moment, though, we’ll work on the house. Might be something inside that is notable.”
> 
> Expectedly, the house was sparsely filled, mostly with non-perishable food and dull, modern furniture. A few pieces of decoration were scattered around the small living room, as well as a collection of board games. After determining that Abe believed there was no such thing as too many editions of Trivial Pursuit, she left that room. Most of the agents were scouring through the basement, removing box after box as they tried to get to the foundation.
> 
> Asuka herself moved on to one of the two bedrooms, something which seemed far more interesting to her. While still sparsely filled, it at least had character, from the bed whose linens were strewn across it, to the stack of a magazine called Traceurs that was stuffed in one corner. In the closet was a genuinely overwhelming collection of hair dye, and a number of articles of clothing, including what seemed to be a small shirt made out of elastic. Asuka moved through the items with little else than a passing interest before moving on to the other bedroom.
> 
> She had expected for the room she thought of as the son’s to be more scattered, but Gabriel Abe’s was by far worse. The entire thing was upturned, with books scattered across the floor, a chair’s cushion halfway across the room from the chair itself, and the closet cleared out. Really must have panicked, Asuka thought as she toured through the room. All of the books were commonplace, the most interesting thing about them being the variety of languages they were in: English, French, Irish, and Japanese. Of those she could read the titles to, most were of fantastical adventures, though there was at least one which Asuka would describe as a bodice-ripper. Regardless, it seemed that the most interesting thing about the room was the state of disarray it was in. If one were to clean it up, it would simply be a case of the bedroom of a therapist.
> 
> Idly, she picked up the chair’s pillow to place it back on the offending piece of furniture, and felt something poking her. Looking down, she pulled the zip on the cushion more fully down, and pulled out the items in question: a collection of photographs. She flipped through them, wondering what about some pictures of the Irish countryside, or his son’s high school graduation would justify such a hiding spot. Then she came to the last one, and she realized. Suddenly, this therapist had become much more interesting.
> 
> Asuka found Tersoo fairly easily, overseeing the moving exploration of the basement. “I found this,” she said as she handed him the photo of two men sitting together, one seemingly in his late thirties, presumably Japanese in ethnicity, presumably Abe, hair straight from the eighties covering much of his face. The other was ancient, white, with short greying hair and what might have once been muttonchops.
> 
> “And this is? Abe goes to bingo night as well, I suppose.”
> 
> “No,” Asuka replied quickly, taking the photo back. “During my classes, I learned a lot, a lot, about times when psychology went wrong. And this man,” she pointed to the older one, “is connected to one of those times. I think, the picture I saw was of him in the nineties, so he may not be the same man. But if he is, then that’s Emmanuel Wellings.”
> 
> “And who’s that?”
> 
> “You ever heard of MK Ultra?” Tersoo nodded in response. “Some of their work was done in Canada, and Wellings was one of the men who led the research there during the fifties. The type of person that makes me sick.”
> 
> “You sure about this?”
> 
> “Of course I am,” Asuka declared. “Once we get another picture of what he looks like now, we can be sure, but I am certain this is him. Which makes Abe infinitely more interesting than before. I mean, Gott im Himmel, what sort of person knowingly spends time with someone who had been in MK Ultra. we have to look into this.”
> 
> “Maybe,” Tersoo said, bringing a hand up and strumming it against his chin as best he could as he thought. “But it could still very well be a coincidence. I mean, what would that even have to do with angels? Even if it isn’t a coincidence, there is an angel beneath our feet. So until we get the cage here, and get it into that cage, we aren’t going to worry about some therapist who's being pals with people who’ve lost their medical licenses. Alright?”
> 
> “Yeah, okay, I just—” She didn’t get a chance to finish as the ground spasmed beneath their feet, knocking Asuka to the ground. She groaned, twisting to get up, when she saw the floor a few meters away crack, paved cement jutting upwards as out from the center something rose. A blue octahedron, barely the size of her fist. It steadily climbed, until it was near the ceiling, and rotated slightly, chittering as it did so.
> 
> The moment she saw it, Asuka scrambled back and onto her feet, helped up by Tersoo, who began shouting into his radio. Two agents moved past them, firearms raised. For a moment there, the only movement was from Asuka steadily moving backwards and getting to her feet, and the only sound being from Tersoo. Then there was an ear-splitting chitter, and one of the agents jerked and fell, the angel having stabbed a piece of itself through them. They were silent as they died, but the air was filled with the firing of a gun, the roar of the other agent, and Tersoo’s hurried voice as he grabbed Asuka’s arm and tugged painfully on it, the two of them moving up the stairs as quickly as they could. Behind them, Asuka could hear the other agent cry out, and she glanced behind them to see the angel moving forward, now larger, though only slightly so. It darted for them, only to be stopped as more gunshots rang out, as more agents came between the angel and pilot.
> 
> Tersoo let go of Asuka as they stumbled out of the building. “Can you call the Eva?” Tersoo asked, his voice raw. Asuka nodded. “Then do it. We’ll buy you time.” At that, he drew his gun and moved back towards the house. Asuka watched for a moment before her brain kicked into gear, and drew her phone quickly. The model had been given to her by NERV, and had very specific functions to go with the normal ones. After a moment of navigating a screen, she tapped through several confirmations, removed her glove, and let it scan her hand.
> 
> “Accepted,” a digitized voice told her. “Dropping to north at minimum safe distance. Please proceed to landing spot.” Asuka nodded numbly, judged the directions, and began sprinting to the north. The sky was beginning to brighten, ever so slightly, and as she ran she was able to jump over the obstacles that had troubled her before. As she moved she thought: she had been told before that it would take two minutes for the Evangelion to land, and then she would need to scale it. Three minutes, most likely, before you’ll be moving. Get it done quickly, and some of them might live.
> 
> Her legs were starting to burn when she saw her Evangelion drop ahead of her, a red blur which smashed into the ground with the sound of thunder. Ever as far away as she had been, the force caused Asuka to buckle, and she watched as trees closer to the unit fall over from the force.
> 
> She forced herself back up, sprinting towards the Evangelion as she tore off the hazmat suit. Finally she reached her Eva, where it was buried partway into the ground, and jumped onto it. She clambered up the too-hot surface, wincing as the rungs that adorned the outside for her to climb up burned at her. A moment later she was at the top, and pounded on the access hatch release.
> 
> Asuka fell into the entry plug, stashed the photo from before in the watertight storage space, and began flipping the switches. Not enough time for a plugsuit, she told herself, but she still grabbed the A-10 connection modules and attached them to her scalp. Around her, the interior of the plug began to light up as electronics turned on, and the LCL valves opened. Asuka ignored the liquid as it enter the plug, instead working to establish communications. Three channels were opened: NERV-1, NERV-5, and to Tersoo. “Evacuate your people,” she told him. “I’m operational.”
> 
> Groaning came from the other side, before she heard Tersoo managed to gasp out. “Thank God.”
> 
> “NERV-1, NERV-5?” she then said. Two voices called out in affirmative. Asuka breathed out in relief at the contact. Inside of the plug, LCL had finished filling it, and the Evangelion activated. A power counter came online in the corner: with the help of the bag-mounted power supply, Asuka could operate for half an hour. I’ll need it, she thought grimly. Ahead of her, she could see where the house was. Had been may have been the better term. Rising from that location, now barely smaller than the Evangelions twenty meters, was Ramiel. Dawn broke.
> 
> “I’m engaging.”
> 
>  


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter 4**  
 **Montreal, Canada; 12 December 2013**  
  
The helicopter skimmed across the city, its advanced blades letting it move near-silently across the night sky. Tabris watched from the cabin without interest. A collection of broken shards, light barely breaking from the heap. He closed his eyes and flexed outward, sensing all of those below. He felt the one inside of himself as well, the half-freed thing. It thought that it could change its future. He leaned back, frowning.  
  
Tabris was a catalyst: change, actions and reactions in others. An angel  _was_ , in the same way the devil could never be redeemed. Once existent, Tabris  _was_. The trepidation and self-loathing it buried itself in was worthless.  
  
The helicopter came to a still, and Tabris glanced over to the pilot. She nodded, and so he opened the cabin door, leaned out, and let go.  
  
For a moment, he let himself fall, feeling the wind rushing against him, before he expanded his AT-Field and slowed his descent, landing as he expected in the grass of a suburban back yard. He looked around before moving across the snow and entering the ranch-style house he had landed next to, the French doors sliding open without much noise. Tabris could feel two people in the building. He had only been looking for one of them. The other was unfortunate.  
  
He drew his Patriot and moved further into the building. He could sense the differences in his targets’ AT-Fields easily enough to identify them both, and so he moved on the superfluous one first. No chance of them doing anything unexpected that way. He found her in the lavatory, beginning to run a bath. She seemed to be an in-house nurse. Unfortunate.  
  
The other was in the bedroom, and so Tabris moved carefully that way. The target was old, enough so that there would be little chance for them to escape. When he opened the door and stepped in, all that Emmanuel Wellings was capable of doing was try and pull himself out of the bed. He didn’t manage even that.  
  
“You were once notable,” Tabris breathed out as he watched the man struggle. “The actions you and others partook in burned through the lilim’s view. Their fire, and yours, have burned out.”  
  
Wellings tried to move once again, barely managing to sit up. The man coughed as he did so, his collapsed frame shaking and his limp hair falling to his shoulders. “You,” Wellings began before faltering, “You say that as if it is ill. I welcome this ember dying.”  
  
“It will burn bright one last time,” Tabris said as he crossed the gap between them. Wellings took no more effort to move away. “That light will illuminate the way. We know that the hybrid and its caretaker fled to you. After that, the trail goes cold. You will bring warmth to it again.”  
  
“The other hybrid didn’t speak this poetically.” It sounded almost like the complaint of a petulant child.  
  
“Oh? They spoke?” Tabris sneered. “And what of, I must ask?”  
  
“Your shared condition.”  
  
“Shared?” Tabris took another step forward, until he towered above the wreck of a man. His fist was clenched tight on his gun.  
  
“Your body is human. Your soul, something more. That was the issue that your counterpart ran into. The human body simply can’t hold a soul like yours for long, else it breaks and leaks, like too much water in a cup too small. There are ways to remedy this, of course. You, I imagine, get medicine from some biocorp; well, your counterpart came to me at first.” As he spoke, the man managed to pull himself up again, staring Tabris in the eyes. It made Tabris grit his teeth.  
  
“You know where they went.” It was the one thing Kiel had insisted on, and so long as the old man got his information, he would be content.  
  
“I never asked, and they never said. Otherwise, I might give it up to you.”  
  
“You’re lying. And I’ll see it.” At that, Tabris shot his hand out, grabbing onto Wellings’ throat, and expanded an Anti-AT-Field. For a moment, there was nothing of Wellings save for that which Tabris saw.  
  
 _Years ago, watching a small child with blue hair squirm in a seat across the world, a tiny view in a deck monitor. “It hurts . . .” the child whined. He spoke sympathetically, knowing what it was like to hurt.  
  
Days after Second Impact, calling and calling his grandchildren, hoping they were safe. They were in New York, and he had heard of the flooding that had occurred.  
  
Looking at the Sea Wall Memorial, finally making the voyage to the city in 2005. Their names were etched into the stone, in the shadows of skyscrapers. This was the future that his grandchildren had been fated to.  
  
In the lab in Montreal, looking at the results of over a decade of experiments. What had originally begun as experiments to control the mind had revealed something far greater. The future. The inner light. He had been told that the data they had gathered would never be shared, but he already saw its spread. They called it Metaphysical Biology. He waited with fevered edge to see it come to light.  
  
He sent the data to Lepidus, along with medicines that could help the child be what they needed and wanted, what he should and shouldn’t speak about, how to help them. As he did, he chuckled. He had always been considered odd for his time. Deviant, dangerous, even. Now though, it was all necessary.  
  
Seeing the child and Lepidus in person, speaking for a short time. The child had grown so much. He could see how proud Lepidus was. He just hoped that they would be alright._  
  
Tabris pulled away, and Wellings sagged back. All of who the man was had been forced to fight for itself, in a fight that he never could have won had Tabris pressed more firmly. “You really don’t know,” Tabris said softly, and before he realized what he was doing, he had put his fist into the wall next to Welling. The man was too exhausted to react, to flinch, but after a moment he managed to pull himself together.   
  
“I didn’t think you’d react like this. Get angry. You seem the kind to remove yourself from humanity, but h—” Wellings never finished his statement, as Tabris grabbed his throat.  
  
“I am more. And when the Calling arrives, we will all see that.” Wellings buckled, and Tabris’ fingers drove through his throat. It took a moment for him to realize what had just happened, at which point he dropped the body he was holding. His other half was struggling, and so Tabris decided to rest.   
  
When someone eventually came to find him, they found Kaworu in the corner of the bedroom closet, sobbing softly.  
  
 **Fort McMurray, Canada; 5 August 2019**  
  
Asuka drew her unit up, watching the diamond warily as it hovered. At the moment, it had yet to make a movement, but she knew how quickly it could strike. How quickly it had killed others. In the corners of her HUD, she could see the readouts given to her by NERV-1 and NERV-5, both analyzing the angel and coming to the best conclusions that they could. She checked the armament that Unit-02 had dropped with, and saw that everything she would want was there: link cannons, pylon launchers, the katar, the progressive axe and glaive. “Alright, synch ratio at 65. How does the positron cannon look?” she spoke into the channel. Letting the orbital team destroy the angel would be . . . less than ideal, but possibly necessary.  
  
NERV-5 answered quickly. “Ready, but this isn’t a stationary target. Plus, have you seen the AT-Field ratings?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m gonna—scheisse!” Asuka howled as Ramiel suddenly shifted, twisting and launching a beam at her. She leapt and rolled, the blast striking where she had been standing before. A live satellite feed showed what had happened to the site where she had been standing: utter obliteration. An Evangelion might have survived that, but not easily . . .  
  
She wheeled around and ripped a tree from the ground, flinging towards Ramiel as she moved closer. The angel twisted again, splitting apart and folding in before blasting the tree out of the sky. Then it angled itself toward her, and let energy lance out again. Asuka ducked it with an instant to spare, moving her hands quickly in the entry plug as she designated a site on the angel. The link cannons, built into the Aegis-class armor at the sides, all opened up, dozens upon dozens of synchronized shots going off as she moved forwards, neutralizing the space between their AT-Fields as she did so. Much of the fire went through, slamming into the crystalline surface.  
  
She looked for damage, and barely saw any. And no visible core.  
  
As she neared, the angel inverted and blossomed, spikes of blue stabbing forth at the red. Asuka fell back, stepped forward, letting the progressive axe unfold and trying to slash the angel as she did so. The steel glanced off, and Asuka leapt away with a half-turn as the angel lashed out. Backstep, backstep, watching for points on the angel that may be vulnerable. The thing was a frenzy of motion, and due to that she missed the next blast.   
  
Heat and pain tore at her heel, and she dropped, trying to roll away from the next strike. A blast hit her back, and the plug shuddered as Asuka cried out.  
  
Another two hits rang out before Asuka was able to find the right dial. “Limiting synch,” she groaned, and as she twisted, the pain began to lessen until it was bearable. She glanced around: all of the shots had been light and quick, meant to get her to disengage. Little damage to her Eva, and the battery was still functioning.  
  
Time to strike.  
  
She designated forty-eight points on the angel, and released the first salvo from the pylon launchers. The first set of missiles launched out, rearranging themselves to strike all across the surface. Readings from NERV-5 came in: Ramiel was retreating its AT-Field to protect on all sides. Perfect.   
  
The smoke from the pylon missiles had barely cleared before Asuka threw herself through its cloud, swinging the axe at Ramiel, crashing it into one side as she let the katar extend around the unit’s other fist and punch with it. The dagger punched into the angel, cracking through some of the blue, and the angel launched itself away, shattering and forming itself as it ducked away. Asuka followed, raising her synch ratio again and never letting up on the offense.  
  
The angel’s movements were disorienting, but they were slow. Asuka gained with each step, launching attack after attack. And then Ramiel caught the katar, twisting its body and disarming Asuka. She fell back for a moment, nursing the wrist, when the angel threw itself forward, slamming Asuka back. As she caught herself, it turned itself back into its octagonal form, and pulled its AT-Field together. In the chaos, Asuka only noticed it before it was too late.  
  
She brought together as strong a defense as she could, but the full force of Ramiel’s AT-Field crashed into hers and shattered it. The Evangelion was thrown back, crashing through the trees and slamming into the ground. Asuka felt the Eva crash into the dirt, the side of her face searing in pain almost as much as her chest. Her vision was blurry, her breath short.  
  
As her Eva rose to its feet, Ramiel drifted overhead. Asuka watched the satellite feed out of the corner of her eye as she pulled herself up. The angel twisted, preparing to fire. Asuka tried to move.  
  
She didn’t get too far. The blast threw her down, pain coursing through her. Flashes of heat, light, and unbearable pain. Asuka reached out, tried to grab the synch dial. Her hand fell before she could reach it. At some point, she was unsure when, she realized that she was screaming.   
  
At some point, the roar in her ears dulled, and the pain began to lessen. Voices were shouting over the comms. There was some signal flashing across the HUD. Asuka groaned, barely lifting herself to read it. The back battery had been destroyed in the blast. The Eva’s internal power supply was now being used; three-and-a-half minutes until deactivation.   
  
“How’s,” Asuka managed to bark out raggedly, “how’s that positron cannon looking?” Someone on the other end replied negatively. The angel had moved too quickly; it would just move again.  
  
Asuka muttered, pulling the Eva to its knees, and then flopping on its back. To her side, she found the progressive axe. “Come on,” Asuka growled, “finish it.” Ramiel dipped low, the octagon coming closer to her, and as it moved a side expanded, pressing against the Evangelion’s chest before sharpening and stabbing in. Asuka grunted as pressure filled her chest, before turning the synch ratio down to the teens. The pain turned to pressure, a thumb pressing on her chest. At that, she burst forward, axe in one arm, the other reaching around as far as possible. The angel tried to scurry, but the Evangelion gripped it, the axe digging in, and pulled it down. Shards and splinters cut at the red behemoth, but it felt to be no more than scratches.  
  
“There’s your stationary target.” Even as she said the words, Asuka felt exhaustion creep in. The angel would break free soon.  
  
Soon didn’t come soon enough: as she neutralized the angel’s AT-Field, she saw a purple lance of light in the sky. Grimacing, Asuka braced herself.  
  
The positron cannon had originally been developed in 2015 for the potential of long-distance engagement with the angels. After NERV-5 was constructed, the working version of it had been transferred there. Charging with the solar energy gathered in orbit, it was meant to hit the target with a variable force between five and fifty kilotons of TNT, focused tightly. What Ramiel was struck with was on the lower end of the scale.  
  
Inside the entry plug, Asuka’s world became blindingly bright, and the pain that she had thought gone returned in full force. Above her, Ramiel was thrashing, screaming. At some point, it slipped out of her grasp. She wasn’t able to pay much attention at that point.  
  
As the blast dissipated, she started to rise to her feet. The Evangelion wobbled, and so did she. It took a few steps, lurched, and toppled. Rose again. Walked a few more. Fell again.  
  
It was like this as she made her way across the field of toppled trees, of burning grass and flailing animals, to where the angel lay. Bits of it were beginning to pull together, slowly. In the center of the pile, Asuka could see the core, a pearly red sphere the size of the Evangelion’s fist. She let her unit fall to its knees, and drew the progressive glaive from where it was stored in the Aegis’ side. She aimed, pulled back, and stabbed. The core was sliced open, something akin to blood seeping from it.   
  
Or maybe it was from the Evangelion. Asuka couldn’t very well tell, though she wondered on that as she collapsed into unconsciousness.  
  
 **Calgary, Canada; 6 August 2019**  
  
Even a day after the battle, Chiwetel Tersoo could see the blast from the positron cannon when he closed his eyes. After Ramiel had engaged Unit-02, he and Section-3 had moved to a safe distance. They hadn’t been in the blast zone. Hell, he hadn’t even been looking in that direction when it happened. Didn’t matter. The sight consumed him every time he would have seen darkness.  
  
He hadn’t been able to sleep since the battle. Even without the images keeping him up, Chiwetel was the senior officer present for the battle, which meant that he got to deal with the cleanup. He was the one in talks with the Canadian government, the one organizing the transit for Unit-02 to NERV-2 for repairs, and the one to write to families. The most important part of his work. He knew that there was some senior officers who would find some way to offload that duty, or to use the most cookie-cutter manners possible when describing the dead. He refused that on principle.   
  
Seven people had died fighting Ramiel, seven of the bravest men and women he knew. He could go on for pages about them: Sanchez’s knowledge of poetry, the time Koji tried to recruit other members of Section-3 into his HEMA division, about being at Leland and Powell’s wedding. It was a small comfort to the families who had lost so much, but if small comfort was what he could give, then he would gladly give it. There was too little left in the world.  
  
“You still on those?” Agent Nasheed asked as she stepped into the office he had appropriated for his work. He looked up at her, setting down his pen and letting his hand rest. It had been beginning to cramp, and as he looked down at the pages upon pages he had written, he realized why. “You’re needed upstairs?”  
  
“Why’s that?” He had thought he had dealt with all of the bureaucratic bullshit earlier that day, so he could focus on what was important.  
  
“Senior officer needs to be present for a pilot’s debriefing.”  
  
“She woke up?” Chiwetel asked, relief in his voice. The First Child had been unconscious when removed from the entry plug, burned and battered. There was little question that she would survive, but even still NERV had brought in the best doctors they could to speed her recovery. The last Chiwetel had heard, they had been keeping her under until they were sure she had recovered.  
  
“Up and at them, and you’ll need to be there.”  
  
“Then I’m there,” Chiwetel said, setting the papers down, unforgotten but no longer a priority. As he walked, he tried to straighten himself up. The suit had never fit him, and he was fairly sure he was limping. Even the survivors had been hurt, as the stitches which now ran from his jaw to his eye exhibited.   
  
The hospital that NERV had briefly taken over a small section of was confusingly laid out, and by the time he had arrived it seemed that things had begun. Chiwetel was guided into the observation room, pitch black compared to the sparse room the pilot was in. The First Child, dressed in some spare clothes the hospital had on hand, was sitting at a metal folding table, a collection of instruments both attached to her and on the table along the wall.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Chiwetel heard the doctor say as he entered the room. The First Child coughed out a laugh at that, and took a drink from a paper cup. Set it down. Glanced at her hands.  
  
“Like I just stepped out of a blender,” she admitted. “Anything else that you need from me?”  
  
“Just one,” the woman observing the First Child said. Stepping over to one of the machines, she pressed a few buttons on it, and waited for a moment. Then, with a tut, she powered it down. “Nothing medically abnormal. You ready for the second portion of the debrief?” The First Child nodded. Hesitantly, Chiwetel noted.  
  
The woman stepped out of the examination room, and a man entered and took the seat opposite of her. “Hello, Asuka.” His voice was bright.  
  
“Same stuff as every debrief?” She asked, voice cold.  
  
“That’s how this works. Ready to start?” The First Child shrugged before nodding. “Great. Just starting with word association, understand?”  
  
“Crystal,” she replied, voice clipped. Across from her, the man smiled.  
  
“Birthday,” he began.  
  
Pilot Soryu was quiet for a moment before answering. “Nostalgia.”  
  
“Angel.”  
  
“Neutralized.” The answer came much faster.  
  
“Pain.”  
  
“Occupation.” She scratched her cheek at that, and shot a look to the observation room. Inside of the darkened room, there was a slight murmur.  
  
“Laughter.”  
  
“Brooks.”  
  
“Book.”  
  
“Read,” in the past tense.  
  
“Test.”  
  
“Pointless.” At the answer, the man grinned again.  
  
“Friends.”  
  
“Foes.”  
  
It went on like that for some time. ‘God’ resulted in ‘crook’, ‘pilot’ lead to ‘savior’, ‘mind’ to ‘will’. For a while, it seemed that things would continue in a relatively boring fashion.  
  
“Father.”  
  
“Forgotten.”  
  
“Mother.”   
  
Again, there was a pause. Eventually, the First Child spoke again.  _“Hindenburg._ Are we done?” The answer caused a small amount of murmuring in the room, but Chiwetel ignored it. The therapist seemed to as well, merely taking another note down and smiling to Pilot Soryu.  
  
***  
  
It was some time later that the First Child was released from debriefing, leaving so quickly Chiwetel would have almost missed it. He went to follow her, stopping as he came across the therapist in the hallway outside of both rooms, cursing quietly to himself.  
  
“You alright?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, I guess. I’ve been working with the pilots for years. That one, she doesn’t change much. Spoke to her about the same issues for years. She’s never bothered to work on this, and I’ve never gotten a mandated session. Self-reflection is not with that one.”  
  
“And you’re telling me this?” Chiwetel asked, trying to keep his anger out of his voice. He couldn’t keep his surprise out.  
  
“Please, no one gives a damn about patient-therapist confidentiality inside of NERV,” the man said, waving the complaint away with a swipe of his hand.  
  
“There’s at least one,” Chiwetel growled, walking away from the man.  
  
He found Soryu in the break room down the hall, growling as she tried to operate the vending machine, quietly muttering about the aestheticization of violence.  
  
“You always this high-brow?” Chiwetel asked as he settled against the wall. She looked over, finally extracting the can of tea and sitting down with it. He joined her, ignoring the way her eyes traveled up the side of his face.  
  
“Side effect of growing up next to that sort of person. You either learn quickly or become insecure.”  
  
“I see. So, how are you? Actually, not what Sir Francis Galton learned.”  
  
“Why do you care?”  
  
“Because I can.”  
  
The First Child snorted at that. “Bullshit. I know you were at the debriefing. They gave me a clean bill, that should be good enough. I’m not interested in wasting time on unimportant things.” The look she gave Chiwetel was more intense than any he had seen before, and Chiwetel fell back from it, slouching in his seat. Soryu continued staring for a moment before turning her head away.  
  
Across from him was one of the few that had faced an angel and killed it. There were many that had faced angels,  _hell_ , technically every member of Section-3 that had been present had faced an angel. But none of them had killed it. The woman sitting across from him was more, for that simple reason. Even now, he found that difficult to believe. She looked too normal to be a slayer of angels. She looked . . . just like any member of his team. Outside of the plug, there was no distinction. Not on the surface, at least. He filed the thought away for later consideration.  
  
“You did a good job there,” he eventually added. She glanced back at him. “Regardless of whether or not you think I care about your health, I do care about that, absolutely. If you hadn’t been there, Ramiel would have killed every single one of us, would have destroyed the city, and who knows how many. Hell, with how it was growing, who knows if it could have been stopped at the GeoFront. So thank you.”  
  
“How many died, though?”  
  
“That’s not what you need to think about,” Chiwetel insisted. He had gone down that path too many times before himself, and knew where it ended.   
  
“How many?”  
  
He caved. She had the clearance to find out regardless. “Seven. Many less than could have been.”   
  
Soryu nodded silently at that, fiddling with her can. Eventually, she took a drink. Paused, then looked up at him. “I want to get back to work.” He nodded, sympathetic. He had buried himself in his work too often to not understand.  
  
“I have just the thing, then.”  
  
***  
  
They pulled Captain Katsuragi into a conference call in the office. Her video feed took up the corner of the office’s wall. The rest was plastered in images from the battle, samples gained from the soil around the site, and some of the remaining shards of Ramiel. The three of them spoke for near an hour on the battle, on what could be learned from it, and what could be learned on finding angels.  
  
The portfolio of the battle was almost complete, but then Chiwetel produced a photo from his pocket, the one that Soryu had recovered from the site. Scanning it and sending it into the collection, he began.   
  
“The final piece of this matter. I personally don’t think it’s much, but we may as well go over this piece of evidence recovered by Pilot Soryu.” The others nodded in agreement, and he expanded it to encompass the whole wall. “Pictured left, Gabriel Abe, the owner of the home Ramiel was underneath. Pictured right, Emmanuel Wellings, noted scientist and member of the MK Ultra program. Wellings died in 2013 during a home invasion, but this still leaves the question of what this is.” Katsuragi nodded in response, and her eyes began to scan, frowning slightly. Soryu stood from where she had been sitting in the corner and walked over to the wall, gazing at some part of the background.  
  
“Enhance,” she said clearly. “X 15 to 20, Y 97 to 100.” The deck responded, blowing up the lower left corner of the image: a bag with several long cylinders in it. “Those are syringes,” she muttered. “What the hell does Gabriel need with syringes? This as far as we can enhance?” she queried the deck, and it replied in an affirmative. “Damn it. There’s text on the side, but I can’t read it. Either of you?” Chiwetel came closer to the image, seeing more clearly that Asuka was telling the truth: an open messenger bag in the bottom left had a few syringes in sight of the camera.  
  
“Can’t tell from here,” Katsuragi answered. Chiwetel agreed with her, causing Soryu to scowl. “Also,” Katsuragi began, drawing both of their gazes. She had the look of someone guilty. “I think I might know the person in that image. Gabriel, that is. Give me one second.” She looked down, punching into her deck, and a few moments later Dr. Akagi, the younger, joined the conversation. “Ritsuko, question: the guy you set me up with, what was his name?”  
  
“Which one?” the response came dryly.  
  
“The philosophy major,” Katsuragi responded. “Kaz . . . something like that.”  
  
“Ryoji Kaji,” Akagi answered. “Why?”  
  
“Because I’m all but certain that we’re looking at a picture of him. Rits, how long has it been since you spoke with him?”  
  
“Years. Not since college, I think.”  
  
The room was silent for a moment. Seeing the opportunity, Chiwetel spoke up. “I was wrong before. This goes beyond coincidence, I feel, into conspiracy. I’ll be getting into contact with the Commander, request permission to bring Mr. Kaji in for questioning.” He glanced over to Soryu.  _She’s a pilot,_ a part of him insisted.  _The sort of person that needs to be in a particular place at a particular time._ Still, she had wanted to get back to work. And she was the one who found the image.  _This is a terrible idea. There have been many across your life._  “I could use a different set of eyes on the ground. A different perspective. Interested?” 


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter 5**  
 **Mausoleum of the Innocents, Japan; 28 December 2007**  
  
“I’ll be honest, this place is horrid,” Naoko spoke, lighting and taking a long drag from her cigarette as she did so.  
  
“Put it out,” Gendo requested. Judging from the look that she gave him, it seemed that he had requested harshly. He couldn’t tell if he had. He couldn’t bring himself to care either. She lowered the glowing strip from her mouth, and made to drop it on the ground. “Not in here.” Naoko gave him a glare, but acquiesced. He watched as she walked away, out into the rest of Terminal Dogma, before sighing and turning back to his creation.  
  
The interior of the Mausoleum itself was severe, as was everything Gendo designed: the floor, walls, and ceiling all made of black glass. Patterns of blue light ran across the floor, intricate and ephemeral. To the uninitiated, they would be meaningless, but to Gendo it was intimately familiar. One of the earliest and most primitive of neural scans. One of Yui Ikari.  
  
The entire hall was a memorial to the union of her neural scan, a collection of genetic programs built by a half-dozen biocorps, and the soul of the silent white giant that was contained across the hall. Forty-one glass containers, framed in gold, all containing the failed attempts to create Ayanami. Forty instances that had failed in the embryonic stage, and one, Rei-0, that had died four months after being ‘born’. With the next instance of rei Ayanami, they had finally found the combination of drugs that would ensure she would survive. For Gendo; however, there was effectively no difference. Dead or alive, she was out of his reach. He walked towards the container that held the remnants of Rei-0, a child gazing emptily toward the ceiling. A few short strands of hair floated in the liquid.  
  
“How could this have happened?” Gendo wondered aloud, staring into the pale red eyes. There should have been something visible in them. She should have been looking up to him, rather than him to her.  
  
“Maybe it’s for the best,” Naoko suggested as she returned, heels clattering against the glass of the floor. “Yes, Third Impact is briefly beyond us. But this problem; however, can be an opportunity for us. We can focus ourselves on defeating the angels, and afterwards we can decide on how to go about regaining Ayanami. Splitting our efforts won’t end well.”  
  
“Won’t end well?” Gendo chuckled, turning to the doctor as he spoke. Naoko gave him a puzzled look, and he sighed. “If we don’t split our efforts, then we won’t get anywhere. Have you forgotten about SEELE? You speak of the angels, but you’ve forgotten them as well. Forgive me if I count things wrong, but we have  _a_  pilot now, all the way out in Germany. As for here, we have two Evangelions without pilots. So, if your best way includes a method to weather the angels, I would suggest telling me now.” As he quieted, he realized he was shaking. He took a step back, his legs weak. Yui’s neural scan traversed the length of the room again, alighting the two of them. In the pale blue light, Naoko looked less alluring than she ever had before. He looked around. The glass walls, lit by the floor below, were briefly illuminated enough so that Gendo could see broken pieces of failed Evangelions behind them. He took the chance to lean against the wall. He hadn’t felt this exhausted in years.  
  
“You’ve a son, and we’ve an Evangelion with his mother’s ghost inside of it.”  _Not a ghost,_ Gendo thought,  _she_ is  _in there._  Even if Naoko had not spoken those choice words, what Gendo would say next would not change.  
  
“No. There’s nothing that he can do for us, or us for him.” He hadn’t seen his son in three years, and in retrospect, it was one of the better decisions he had made in recent years.  
  
“He can pilot Unit-01, assuming that for once Metaphysical Biology decided not to throw us a curveball,” Naoko countered. Gendo shrugged at that. “You’re being petulant, and even you know it.”  
  
“I’m not being petulant, I’m being realistic,” Gendo said. “You assume that he would pilot the Evangelion. The same Evangelion, as you so helpfully brought up, that his mother disappeared into. Because that would work perfectly.”  
  
Naoko sighed. “I never said it would be simple, Gendo. Nevertheless, we must stopper this gap. Consider it. There aren’t going to be many other chances. Give this one a thought.” At that, Naoko made to leave. Gendo couldn’t bring himself to call out to her. If Naoko had made her case, then there was no more that she would say. As she walked away, Yui’s light flashed through the hall.  
  
***  
  
Gendo stepped into the enormous hall that held the Evangelions, long after the rest of GEHIRN’s staff had gone home for the night. The two great giants, orange and purple, stood opposite of one another, dual eyes staring into one. Yui and her clone staring directly at one another. In times long past, he would have gone to the Evangelion which held Yui’s soul, and spoken to it. Even if there was never an answer, it gave him some way to think. This time; however, he approached the cyclopean Evangelion.  
  
The space inside of the entry plug wasn’t meant for someone of his size to have sat in it, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Idly, he pulled up the neural activity maps for Unit-00. As Rei-0 had died, fragments of the soul were leaking from her body. Unsure of what would happen to them, they had transferred the rest into Unit-00. As it happened, the lost fragments transitioned into Rei-1. Ayanami was split between the Evangelion and the body. A particular conundrum.  
  
“Hello,” he began softly. He almost stopped right there, almost exited the plug, almost walked away.  _Speaking to the shadow of a one year old, how pathetic._ “I’m not sure if you know me. You were so very young when you died. My name is Gendo Ikari. I’m your father—at least as close to it as can be considered.  
  
“You know, they say that silence is golden. I can’t bring myself to think that way. I just . . . continue to remember. I remember all the long conversations which I had with Yui. She’s, well, another long story. She spoke to me so very often, about so many things. There was a time when we sat together, speaking for hours and hours. Silence is fool’s gold.  
  
“You were going to be so much more than what you are now. That isn’t your fault. But it does mean that we’re going to need to take steps around this. Little bits, here and there, until we can make you whole again.” On the neural map, Gendo noticed something, a shift in the electrical surges of the Evangelion’s brain. Rei was thinking. Presumably, perhaps too hopefully, Rei was  _listening.  
_  
“You have a brother as well. His name is Shinji. He is . . . far away from here. A bad thing happened long ago, and he needed to leave. Now though, he may be coming back. I . . . I don’t know. What do you think of that, Rei?” There was another collection of heavy movement from the neural map, and Gendo paused. After a moment, he smiled. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes.”  
  
 **NERV-6, Democratic Republic of the Congo; 8 August 2019**  
  
The jet landed on the far outskirts of Kinshasa, and Amon el Mahdy awoke from the rumbling. He kept his eyes closed, letting himself feel the roll of the aircraft. When the plane finally stopped, he stretched, his arms bumping against the end of the sofa he had been sleeping on. There was a twinge in the base of his shoulder, and for the last few minutes as they taxied, he stood up, walking around the spacious cabin as squeezing the spot thoroughly. By the time he was finally ready to depart the plane, the discomfort had diminished somewhat.  
  
The sun was beating down from overhead, but the temperature on the ground was only pleasantly warm. Amon was only outside for a short walk; however, before he was bustled into a waiting car and driven to the NERV-6 complex itself. “Hope I’m not too late,” Amon said to the driver in front of him, a thickly built woman, certainly more muscular than he was. “Plane had some engine troubles on the ground, needed to ensure it was safe to fly.”  
  
“Regional Commander Kalala has told me that you’re not late at all,” she replied, her voice warm, rich with the local accent. “Your mutual friend, Dempsey, just arrived a short while ago.” Amon nodded at that, wondering if the woman was confused about the group of them. A NERV head, the French Minister of Culture, and an Irish business tycoon. Under most circumstances, a motley collection if ever there was one. When the lens of SEELE was applied; however, things made more sense.  _She’s in on it, is she?_ Amon wondered. For a moment, he considered testing that theory, but putting the thought aside. Even if she was, the risk that certain groups within SEELE learning was too potent.  
  
With a turn, NERV-6 came into sight, a vast array of spires, hangars, and factories, more akin to a military base than the scientific hubs that some of the other NERV bases. It was a look that had some truth to it. All the various branches had their specialties: NERV-1 in Tokyo served as command. NERV-2 in Berlin had been home to a vast amount of the early research with the First Child, and would soon be home to Unit-01. NERV-3 in Roswell was still hard at working trying to crack the S2 question. NERV-4, somewhere deep patrolling the oceans, would find the angels that had fallen under the sea. NERV-5, up in orbit, would respond to angelic threats as they appeared. A comprehensive array of bases, with a great list of functions.  
  
All of them; however, needed maintenance. Armor for the Evangelions, supplies for the orbital groups, the like. All developed at NERV-6, located as close as possible to the material sources that would be developed into all the necessary components.  _The more history changes, the more it stays the same,_ Amon thought bitterly. In one of the least developed nations in the world, he could see the arms and armor to fight gods being flown out to the world.  
  
They arrived at the central-most structure in the compound, a glass building shaped like a flowing, cursive ‘T’. From there she guided him through a series of large open hallways to an elevator, to the uppermost floor, and from there down to the office of Regional Commander Kalala. She stopped there, and he entered.  
  
Both Kalala and Dempsey were already in the office, conversing next to a holographic display. A monumental figure, a white Evangelion with a drooping head and toothy maw. The oft-considered Mass Production Series. It seemed to be jeering at Amon in the pale light of the office. As if to make up for the off-putting opening, a piece of Sinatra’s could be heard gently playing from a record.  
  
Dempsey was the first to notice Amon’s arrival. Their face, wrinkled with the age and framed by grey hair, was graced by a thin smile as they looked in his direction. “el Mahdy, how good to see you. It’s been such a long time since, when was it last?”  
  
“Cannes,” he answered, shaking their hand and kissing them on both cheeks. “The 2018 Film Festival, I believe.” Dempsey hummed in acknowledgement, and Amon turned to Kalala, a short, generally unimpressive man. “ _One for My Baby_ , no? Which year?”  
  
“1947,” Kalala answered. “The original Sinatra recording. I have the failed recordings as well, purchased them at an auction in ‘97. Literally one of a kind.” He looked between the two others, and smiled. “There’s something beautiful in the mistakes that one makes, don’t you think. Maybe it’s because the perfected, final take is only as amazing as it is when you have all the attempts before to contextualize it. Mahdy, would you like something to drink? Already gave Dempsey some water, but we’ve scotch, brandy, some wines . . .”  
  
“Brandy,” Amon answered, and took the moment to seize the conversation. Otherwise, knowing those two, they’d be stuck on pleasantries for an hour. “So, Kalala, your invitation was quite sparse. Are we here to discuss the MP Series?”  
  
“Quite,” Dempsey said. “What we’ve come together to discuss is the matter of the manufacturing of some key parts of the Evangelion armor. For that, a short history lesson. When Units-00 and -01 and first being constructed, much of the finer manufactory was done by an Australian megacorporation, the Alton-MacWell Heavy Machinery Company. The next three Evangelions; however, had those same pieces produced by a different company, who managed to quite effectively nick the contract out from under Alton-MacWell. Ever heard of NeoTek?”  
  
“That’s the company begun by a friend of ours, right?”  
  
“Lorenz Kiel’s little pet project, yes,” Kalala said, handing Amon a tumbler. Amon took a drink as Kalala moved around the display and punched into it, two new symbols appeared, those of Alton-MacWell and NeoTek. “NeoTek has done quite well with their contract, but it’s coming up for review with the UN Security Council. With the recent angelic attacks, it looks as if that contract is about to become quite busy, and it would as a major source of income for our friend. He’s quite convinced that he’s safe in that contract. Normally, he would be right. Now though, with the Democratic Republic of the Congo, France, and Ireland all being on the Security Council, the three of us could actually play an integral part here.”  
  
“So then, which of you is the one who owns Alton-MacWell?” After he was the recipient of two blank stares, he continued. “I would like to know who here is planning a coup. Unless I’m severely misreading what the both of you are suggesting.”  
  
“You understand our actions, but not our intent,” Kalala said, voice soft. “Neither of us control Alton-MacWell. In fact, no member of SEELE does. This is not an effort to usurp Kiel, but to warn him. He’s been slipping, first with his prediction of the events of Second Impact, his beliefs about the angels. The world has changed, and he simply hasn’t changed his views enough to accommodate that.”  
  
Dempsey cut in at this point, moving over to Amon. At the proximity, he could smell their lavender perfume. It scratched at his nose. “We aim to stop him, force him to reconsider his perspective. What else might we be assuming that we’re, in fact, in error about?”  
  
“So, discuss it with him, then,” Amon said. “We have our weekly meetings, simply discuss it there.”  
  
Kalala sighed at that. “You’re quite naive, Mahdy. Kiel has no reason to take us into account. Not unless we find a way to put some pressure to him. Removing the Evangelion contract from his hands will grant us our stage.”  
  
“Let me ask you this: if you irk Kiel, what if he decides to take actions to silence you?” Almost as if he had predicted it, silence reigned as Amon finished the brandy in his hand. With an exhale, he sat the tumbler down on the desk, and continued. “I appreciate why you wanted to ask me in person, and I appreciate the concern, I truly do. But I won’t be taking part in anything here. I’m going to find the cafeteria until my plane is ready to go.”  
  
He managed to get halfway across the room before Dempsey called out to him. “Can we speak?” He turned and nodded to them. Dempsey began to walk out of the room, motioning for Amon to follow. “Thanks,” Dempsey said as the two reached the hallway, finding a nearby bench to sit down on.  
  
“You aren’t going to convince me. I appreciate the effort that you’re taking, but it will be for naught.”  
  
Dempsey let out a laugh. “I don’t expect to convince you. I just want to give you some context as to my thoughts here. I had a heart attack in 2016. I was walking along the coast in Dublin, walking my dog.” They stopped at that, shuddering slightly. “Four days later, after having replaced two heart valves that had stopped working, I was free to go. During my stay, as I was sitting there in that bed, days blending into and out of each other, I thought about what I had done, about what my life had been. And during that time, I came to a conclusion so startling that I had never realized before it could have been possible, yet so true that, looking back, I don’t know how I could have missed it.” Amon nodded, understanding precisely what they were referring to.  
  
“I was a different type of person back then, a fundamentally different one. And just, in one instance, I understood the world in a completely new fashion. It wasn’t something that I had come to, but something that came to me. But at the same time, I am still me. The content of who I am has not changed, but the expression of identity, the choices in how I go through life, have.”  
  
“I know,” Amon said. “Believe me, having met you when you presented male, I’m well aware. That doesn’t change how I feel. I’m not disagreeing that a change in perspective can be good, even necessary. I disagree that it is practical to bring this up with Kiel, and is such an inflammatory way. What’s there to even—”  
  
“We no longer believe,” Dempsey said, shooting their hand out and grabbing onto Amon’s arm. He could see in their eyes was fear, a fear out what they had told him. They gulped, pulled back and tightened the shawl they were wearing around them, and continued. “Instrumentality, there are too many uncertainties with it. Will it even work, will it provide happiness, security. Once, I believed it would. But that’s before I knew fully who I was. I feel like a magnet, my identity poles that have been flipped, and now no matter how much I’m pushed I can’t bring myself to align with Kiel’s wishes. Kalala feels the same, though not for the same reasons. Under other circumstances, he would hate me, but with something this massive . . .” They trailed off into silence, leaving Amon to respond as his mind was filled with questions. Never before had a member of SEELE expressed doubt in Instrumentality, it was . . . something that Amon had never considered.  
  
“I don’t understand,” Amon began. “Instrumentality is the path to connection—”  
  
“But is connection meaningful when it destroys who you are?” Dempsey rebutted, voice rising. “I can’t bring myself to risk that, risk that I lose who I was in the beginning. After all, what’s the point of a connection if it’s a connection between two voids, incapable of transmission? Answer me this, Mahdy: what  _is_ Instrumentality?”  
  
He couldn't find an answer to that.  
  
***  
  
The three members of SEELE ended up eating lunch together in NERV-6’s cafeteria, sharing from a large collection of local dishes. The employees knew well enough not to approach them, and so for their meal they had a large portion of the room to themselves. The severe style, windows taking up the entirety of the walls, all the tables covered in white tablecloths, the ceiling near a dozen meters above them, made Amon feel diminutive. He supposed that was the purpose: making the average worker realize that they were a small part of something much, much greater. At the moment, it principally served to make him feel like a rat out in the open. He would probably get a laugh from the idea once he was gone.  
  
They didn’t speak on the matters of SEELE, having decided to give the matter some time. The vote on the contract would not happen for another two weeks, giving Amon some time to think on it. He intentionally didn’t think on that as they ate; however, instead following fully in the conversation as they spoke about families, the more mundane aspects of their work, and, most heatedly, their prospects on the World Cup. Amon only brought his husband up once; the polite glare he received from Kalala restrained him from continuing that train of thought. Dempsey managed to fill the rest of the time with talks about their company EnvInd, one of the earliest modern green technology companies, and the first legally classified megacorporation. Hearing from them about a world which he so rarely visited was fascinating.  
  
Not long afterwards, the three of them parted ways, Kalala seeing them off from the main building, Dempsey and Amon bidding each other adieu at the airstrip.  
  
Once he was in the air, Amon pulled out his deck and began to compose a message, to be sent to Nagisa. There were many things to think about in the future, and, were he to side against Kiel, an angelic issue that would need to be addressed. And perhaps . . . perhaps a decision to be made.  
  
 **Corofin, Ireland; 20 March 2011**  
  
Yeast. Turmeric. Cumin. Paprika. Salt. Pepper. Garlic. Tofu. Lots of tofu. Scrambled. Fried. Mix. Over the past few years Ryoji Kaji had cooked scrambled tofu so often that it had become an automated process. The scent from the food wafted up and filled the small kitchen, making his stomach growl.  
  
As he cooked, he began to hum, a soft song that he had heard many times before. He had first heard it from his mother, sung to him in his earliest days. He had hummed it many times, but only sung the full song once before, at the funeral for the rest of his family, dead from the flooding of Second Impact. He had been on a train to Nagoya when the floods hit, to spend the weekend with a friend. When he next saw his family, they had all looked peaceful, as if they hadn’t suffered in their deaths. Ryoji liked to imagine that was the case. It was one thing that made it easier for him to sleep at night. That, and knowing he was working to make the world a better place.  
  
As he finished cooking breakfast, he pulled away from the counter, eyes sweeping over the room as he did so. The central room of the house was small: a kitchen that blended into a dining room and office all in one space. Books crowded over the table, and pictures were stuck to the fridge. The camera that had taken them, one of the older models that immediately printed the photos—the only kind he allowed to be taken of him or his child—was perched on top of the fridge. Across the room, the sofa was almost entirely covered with old stuffed animals and picture books. He noticed that Mr. Tom, the blue elephant, was staring at him.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, gesturing to the pan, “I’m making a peace offering. Why are you judging me for that?” Mr. Tom didn’t respond, mostly, Ryoji suspected, because there was nothing to say. The fact that it was an inanimate stuffed animal may have also had something to play in the matter. “You’ve got my back in this, right?”  
  
Mr. Tom stared back with cold, black-glass eyes.  
  
“Traitor,” Ryoji scowled at the thing, and walked out of the main room. The house was a warm temperature, one that finally had proper insulation after the first three they had lived in had to be left. Lepidus had warned him that his child would grow unusually, as the result of genetic engineering. That had proved true, constant moves to new communities as his child grew too quickly to hide. Eventually, her growth had leveled off, and that was when they finally settled down, her enrolling in the local middle school and trying to make the most of life. It wasn't a bad place to live either, small, but livable. There were only a handful of rooms off the only hallway in the house: two bedrooms, a bath, and the laundry room, also serving as their dog's bedroom. Ryoji wished that he could bring Biscuit as back-up to console his child, but the German Shepherd slept even later than either of them did. Of the two bedroom doors, one was bare, the other covered in old drawings, its frame a collection of height markings, and a name in white wood letters nailed into the door: Rei.  
  
He rapped on the door, knowing both from the light under the door and from habit that his child was already awake, probably continuing her voyage through Tolkien's works. Or, considering how upset she had been last night, maybe she was fuming. “Hey,” he called out softly, “I made your favorite. If you want it.” He got silence in response. “Or I could eat it all myself.” There was more silence, and Ryoji sighed.  _I suppose that tactic has stopped working._  “Could we talk, still? I know that you’re upset, and that’s fine. But we should still talk.”  
  
It took a few moments before the door opened, but it eventually did. Rei looked exhausted, brown dyed hair still bedraggled and eyes bleary. Despite that, she managed to give a him a cold glare, something he rarely saw.  
  
“You ready to talk?”  
  
“What's to talk about?” Rei grumbled, crossing her arms. She didn't sound tired, the thick Irish accent she had developed shining through prominently. “You aren’t going to change your mind.”  
  
“C’mon, kiddo, you know why going into the city is a bad move,” Ryoji said. She huffed at that. He could sympathize; being the only member of her group of friends not getting to go to into the city on a day-trip wasn’t fun. Even if Ryoji could see few redeeming factors in Galway itself, she should have been able to go. At least in an ideal world. “Too many risks.”  
  
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Rei muttered, “you want me to make friends, be around friends, but then you don't let spend time with them.”  
  
“I let you hang out with friends.”  
“Not at Siobhan’s birthday, not going to the museums, not today,” Rei continued, voice speeding up and growing louder until she was sputtering, stepping back and drawing her arms close around herself. “It's not fair!”  
  
“No, it's not,” Ryoji said softly, kneeling down to Rei’s level and finding a place to sit on the ground. She kept staring at him, moving to sit opposite of him against her bed. The glare lessened, though it remained. “The situation you're in, it isn't fair. Not fair to either of us. I don't want to keep you here any more than you want to have to stay here. And you're absolutely right, you should be able to spend time with your friends. But staying home, it's one of the ways that keep SEELE—the bad people—away from us both. Makes it so that one day, you can go with your friends.”  
  
“I know.” She wiped at her eyes as she spoke. She had been crying before he had arrived, and more so than she had before during these episodes.  _It’s not just this that upsets her,_ he realized. “I-I just wish I could now.”  
  
“I understand,” Kaji said. He truly did. He watched as she shuffled, sniffled, and sat herself down further. As she shifted, he saw that her roots were starting to show, blue poking out just slightly inside of the brown.  _We’ll need to go back and dye it again soon,_ he thought, though he didn’t say it aloud. That could wait until she was feeling better, and right now that was what mattered most. “I don’t know what to say, other than that I’m sorry.” She nodded, sniffling again, and got up, holding her arms out for a hug. He indulged Rei, patting her on the back as her breathing began to return to normal. “Hey, kiddo? Is there anything else that’s upsetting you?”  
  
She pulled away and shook her head. “N-no.” There was a pause, but then she continued. “I just-I don’t want to be Rei anymore.” Ryoji watched as the composure Rei had put together crumbled, tears beginning to fall again.  
  
“Kiddo, it’s ok,” he said as he pulled her close. “You can be frustrated with your life, angry at what other people expect from you. It’s perfectly fine to be sad, and to be angry. But you don’t have to change who you are because of what other people want you to do. If the world tells you that you need to be a certain way, that you have to change to fit what they want, or stay as what they want you to be, you tell them ‘no’, alright? You tell them that you are who you are, and that will never change. And I’ll back you up the entire time, alright?” Rei looked as if to speak again, trying to get some words out between tears and the now arriving hiccups, but Ryoji continued, “We can talk about this later. For as long as you want. But for now, let’s just rest, ok?” Rei nodded, and pushed further into Ryoji’s side. For the moment, they simply sat there, the tears staining his shirt on this early Sunday morning.


	7. Chapter Six

> **Chapter 6**   
>  **Vancouver, Canada; August 8 2019**
> 
> Vancouver pulsed with the energy of millions of lilim, background noise as Tabris approached the house in front of him. It was much like a night years ago, rain instead of snow, and Vancouver instead of Montreal. Still going to take lives. This time; however, the hybrid wouldn’t run from him.
> 
> The sounds of Kitsilano said that there was not much activity at this hour, and all the lights being off in the building added to that. He entered much like he had before, so many years ago. This time his targets had remembered to lock their back door, but it made no difference. He glided through the threshold silently. His gun was heavy in his hands; his other half was strong tonight. If he was to do this properly, then he would need to do it quickly. He hurried up the half-dozen steps that separated the living room from the bedrooms. His foot knocked into a dog’s bowl as he moved, but nothing in the home stirred. Silent as the grave.
> 
> As he entered one of the bedrooms, he realized why. Those who weren’t conscious generally had weakened AT fields compared to those who were awake, and in a city as populated as Vancouver, they could easily blend together. He had thought that the reason why he couldn’t feel them was because of the city. Now he knew the truth.
> 
> It was because they weren’t there.
> 
> He quickly tore through the place, ensuring that they weren’t there. They weren’t the, there was no car there, and possibly most damning of all, no dog. He returned to the center of the house, stepping into the kitchen, hoping he’d find something to tell him where they went. There was a decent amount of material in the building, brochures about locations through Canada, postcards from across the world, even the bottles of hard liquor in the cabinets. Each carryied a story, but none stood out as the correct story.
> 
> Tabris flicked through them all with boredom growing with every passing drop of rain. As he paused on a postcard from Dublin, he felt someone outside. He focused in; correct, multiple lilim moving outside. There was a knock on the front door. “Vancouver police,” they said, the voice loud yet soft.
> 
> Tabris closed his eyes and flexed his AT-field out to them, trying to determine what little about them he could. If he had all the time in the world, he could have determined every tiny piece of them. It was something his other half refused to do. As for now, he didn’t get much. Names: Tersoo, Nasheed, Ito, Waverly, and Soryu. All members of NERV. At that, he drew inward, and moved to the wall next to the foyer. If they were here, then it had to be for the hybrid as well. They could not be allowed to find it. He would have to kill them as well.
> 
> Tersoo moved closer, calling out again. He seemed to be operating on the same assumptions that Tabris had. Leaning against the wall, Tabris clenched and unclenched his fist, waiting. The five had moved into the foyer, Tersoo closer than the rest. In a moment, he would be at Tabris.
> 
> The angel snapped a fist out, catching Tersoo and sending him flying. Almost as soon as that, the others raised guns and opened fire on him. Even the shots that struck home did nothing, and then Tabris was moving, crashing into Nasheed and grappling with her. She shot Tabris in the gut as they were conjoined; a sting, nothing more. They shifted, and he threw her at Soryu, who leapt out of the way. Ito was already moving to engage him.
> 
> Tabris raised his Patriot, and Ito his Glock, and they traded shots. Tabris’ AT-field blocked the bullet aimed at him. Ito crumpled as his knee was blown into. The next two rounds burrowed into his shoulder and torso. The next shot was to take his head, but a force wrenched at Tabris’ hand and flung the gun out of it. He turned to see Tersoo holding a pistol in his hands, an Arsenal Strike One, shaking slightly.
> 
> Tabris let out a chuckle. “Takes skill to shoot like that.”
> 
> Tersoo’s response was three more shots: two at centre-mass and one at his head. On anyone else, it may have even mattered. “What even are you?” the lilim wondered as Tabris looked towards him.
> 
> “Beyond you.”
> 
> Waverly moved in, throwing a right hook. Tabris caught it, pulled the man around, and put him into the wall. He flexed out his AT-field. Nasheed and Soryu had retreated further into the house, and Tersoo was following them. Tabris intercepted them in the kitchen, blocking a kick by Tersoo and knocking his legs out from under him. Nasheed kept firing, as if that would do anything. He advanced, only for a rush of red to come at his side. Soryu stabbed at him with a knife she had grabbed, the tip almost connecting with his skin before being intercepted. Tabris stumbled back, surprised, and she kept the thrust up.
> 
> He flared his AT-field, forcing her hand back, then snapped his hand to her throat. He had yet to be hurt, but the adrenaline was pulsing inside of him. The flesh under his hand was shaking, and then he realized that his hand was shaking just as much. It was warm too, more so than he expected.
> 
> _Don’t do this,_  the other half pleaded, unheeded. Soryu was struggling against him, striking at his arm. None of the blows mattered a damn thing. One of the others tried to stab him again, his AT-field deflecting the blade.
> 
> Then there was movement at his side, and Tabris was slammed off of his feet. He and his attacker crashed into the ground and sliding before disengaging. Tabris rose first, kicking out and clipping Nasheed in the chin. Her head slammed back against the floor. “Enough of this,” Tabris muttered, drawing the gladius as he did so.
> 
> Nasheed tried to move out of the way. It wasn’t enough as he stabbed the sword through her abdomen, and she began to scream and writhe.  _Two to go,_  he thought as he rose. A sound pricked his ears, the whistle of glass. A moment later, something smashed into his shoulder, catching him off guard.
> 
> Liquid seeped into his clothes as the glass fell around him. Tabris sniffed briefly at the liquid, and furrowed his brows in confusion. Liquid was seeping into his clothes, alcohol, he identified after giving it a sniff. He turned, saw the final two. Soryu was on the ground, breathing raggedly.
> 
> Tersoo was moving, however, already throwing another of the bottles of liquor at him. Tabris caught it with an AT-field, glass splintering and shards flying. A few drops settled on him, nothing more. He didn’t even bother blocking the third bottle, letting it wash harmlessly over him. “What do you mean to accomplish?” Tabris asked, stepping forward as he did so. The conflict was settling around them; Nasheed screams had reduced to whimpers, Soryu was still on the ground. Tersoo seemed unable to move, not even bothering to lift his gun “You’re all through.”
> 
> Tersoo didn’t move as Tabris grabbed him by the throat and brought him close. “Lilim,” he allowed himself a chuckle as he throttled the man, “none of your virtues can save you.”
> 
> “How about a vice?” Tersoo grunted, and Tabris felt something push against his gut. He looked down in time to see Tersoo fire his pistol. The blast pushed at Tabris, staggering him for an instant, and then the sparks from the barrel reached him. He felt the heat first, and then the alcohol ignited, flames spreading over him. There was pain now, actual, _genuine_  pain, and with a cry he threw Tersoo away from him. The man struck into the counter and crumpled. Tabris advanced as the flames spread across him, and then paused. His other half had been fighting the entire time, and with each further moment the pain brought, his composure faltered.
> 
> _They aren’t the one, and they’ve been dissuaded regardless,_  he decided, and with that began to walk away. The flames, painful but ultimately harmless, he began to pat out. The voice of his other half was continuing to beg and cry, and as he walked in the rain he began to confront it. That matter wouldn’t take long. Then, he could move on to the hybrid.
> 
> **Tokyo, Japan; August 9 2019**
> 
> The bus stopped, and Kensuke stepped off, deep in the heart of Tokyo. The city always seemed a little brighter, a little cleaner, when he came back to it. He wondered how long it would take for that to rub away this time. He doubted it would take long. The early afternoon sun was glinting overhead, dashing through the skyscrapers and glittering through windows.
> 
> Kensuke took another glance at the directions on his phone and set out through the city. His talks with the families of those dead, and with their employers, had left him with one lead. It was unique, and terrifying. So many dead, over so many years, and all hired through proxy by one company. Their headquarters were located in Tokyo, deep in the bowels of the downtown hive. Kensuke wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there. At some point, when he was younger, he would have imagined a confrontation. It wouldn’t come about, he knew that now. But there would be something, at the very least, he could use.
> 
> Scrambling was the best skill he had ever learned.
> 
> The walk was a short one, trundled in between dozens of others. He had always hated that about Tokyo, the crowds that swarmed so tightly that sometimes it was difficult to breath. But it does give an interesting sight, he thought to himself, noticing a group of people standing on the opposite corner. He took an off-hand glance at their signs: all anti-United Nations sentiment. It wasn’t the most unusual thing to see in the city; the U.N. had made itself an unpopular figure with a number of folks in the years after Second Impact when it had tried to bring the world together under its banner. The bad blood of those years was still being spilled. During his time breaking ICE, he had learned more than he wanted to.
> 
> He still remembered when he idolized the U.N., NERV, and the like. He had first started slicing into data and learning to read it so that he could learn more about the Evangelions, about the military that he had been so enamored with. He sometimes imagined talking to his younger self about what he had found. Maybe he would bring up the Bolivian Civil War, how it had been instigated by the U.N. Or maybe he would have just punched his younger self in the face. Options, after all, were the spice of life.
> 
> He kept moving without paying any more attention to them. He wasn’t a part of that crowd anymore. At least not without the promise of an article to write, and maybe even a paycheck, lying at the end of it. High risk, no reward was a shitty way to live. And to think you’re trying to be a journalist.
> 
> He came to the building in question, an old brick one that seemed to have been last used, or at least last washed, some time before the 1930s. It was on a side road well A few businesses had signage on the wall promoting themselves. He paused to take a handful of photographs with his phone. The signs, the building, the road. Never knew when it might come in handy. As he was taking them, the phone began to ring. He glanced at the number, didn’t recognize it, and blocked the call. With that, he made his way into the building.
> 
> It took him a handful of minutes to find the right set of offices; the place was a maze of tight corridors and tiny rooms. Eventually he found his way to the basement, up the set of stairs in the back—the only way to get to a particular hallway on the second floor, and made his way to the office.
> 
> And promptly found that it was a glorified broom closet, with no posted hours, and no staff there. He checked the time: three in the afternoon. “Little late for lunch, isn’t it?” he wondered aloud, and peered in through the glass in the window. Once he saw that the only furniture in the room was a desk pushed into the corner, and turned and walked away in disgust. The frustration of it boiled up, too close for him to deal with, but he pushed it down. For the moment, he needed to walk, to do something and not just get angry. Find something somewhat productive.
> 
> His phone rang again. He saw that it was the same caller. “Fine, fucking fine,” he muttered to himself before answering. “Aida, what can I—”
> 
> “Oh, so this time you answer?” a voice came through the other end, angry and tired and raw. “Knowing you, you weren’t doing anything, so—”
> 
> “Wait, wait,” he cut them off, rubbing at his forehead as he spoke. “Who even is this?”
> 
> “Asuka Soryu, of course. Come on, I have to be the only German person you’ve ever met. And before you ask, Touji gave me the number.” Of course he did.
> 
> “What do you want, First Child?” He tried his best to sound exhausted. From his, admittedly limited, experience with the pilot, exhausting could describe her well. He had only met her twice in person, but Touji had talked about the pilots often enough to get the idea. “I actually am busy, so . . .”
> 
> She took a moment to respond after he trailed off. “I need you to find some information for me. Over cyberspace, that is.”
> 
> “I’m sorry, what?”
> 
> “I can’t give you context. But I need to know something, and I need it in a hurry. NERV would take too long.” There was a conversation just outside of the phone, and Asuka shouted at the people in English.
> 
> “I thought you were in Czechia?”
> 
> “It was supposed to be Paris,” she answered, voice snapping. “But I’m in Canada at the moment. Like I said, can’t give context. But come on, deck up and work with me.”
> 
> Kensuke took a moment to put his hand over the microphone and utter a few choice words. When he came back, he spoke quietly. “No, I’m not going to do that. Considering that I can only imagine what the legal status of what you’re asking me to do is, and my record. Also, keep in mind that I can’t go into cyberspace anymore without puking. So no, I’m not doing that.”
> 
> “Hmm. Some man you are.”
> 
> He laughed at that. “You really think that’s going to convince me. How desperate do you think I am.” Soryu responded with the sound that he suspected a trash incinerator made.
> 
> “Listen, glasses, you do not know the sort of shit I am dealing with right now. There are four people in hospital beds who couldn’t get the information in person. You could find that information while safe, help NERV, help me, and generally be useful for once in your life.”
> 
> Kensuke sighed, leaning his head against the wall. There was an interest there. Your NERV days are done, he told himself. He had scraped close enough before. The possibilities, though. And if this is for NERV, then I’d be protected. And besides, he thought patting at his wallet, the information might be worth something. “Alright,” he said. “Just give me a bit.”
> 
> ***
> 
> Kensuke settled himself into the far corner of an internet cafe. He set up his deck discretely, occasionally taking a few sips from a coffee as he did so. After a little while, he finished setting up the rig, and with that he jacked himself in and entered cyberspace.
> 
> He pinged Soryu when he entered the glittering landscape, and began to set up his old tools. They were out of date—it had been a year since he had last tried to break ICE—but as he skipped his data through dozens of places and setting up his proxies he felt it coming back to him. He got his feeds together quickly, bringing the Soviet-made programs he had found or bought over the years into activity. By the time Soryu got into contact with him he was already skimming into the local net of Vancouver, gathering feeds from all over the globe.
> 
> “Alright,” Kensuke began, “what are we looking for?” His voice was odd, artificial. Made sense, considering he wasn’t actually speaking, his avatar in cyberspace was. He hoped that it didn’t make things difficult for Soryu to understand.  
> “There’s a man going by the name of Gabriel Abe,” Soryu answered, a small anonymous icon representing her floating at the edge of his peripheral. A collection of thin lines, pulsing electronic, showed the links between her phone and the rest of her collected cyberspace data: one led off to a social media page, another to a bank account, and so on and so on. He paid it very little attention, instead searching down the list of people with that name in the area. There were a few dozen results that came from his query, and with that he began to filter them down.
> 
> “Anything more you can tell me?”
> 
> “Lives in Kitsilano—it’s a neighborhood in Vancouver. Works as a psychologist.”
> 
> “Ah, found him then,” Kensuke said, pulling out the particular Abe. “Checking some basic stuff here, give me a minute,” he continued as he began to filter through things, breaking small ICEs with ease as he went. “It will take me a few minutes to get through on this. “So, you heard from Touji about the last angel fight.”
> 
> “I was a bit busy,” Soryu replied. “I heard enough though. I trust the others to do a well enough job when they’re working together.”
> 
> “Yet you’re alone in Canada.”
> 
> “Like I said, the others should be working together. I do well enough to go it solo.”
> 
> “Which is why you’re asking me for help, right?”
> 
> There was a long pause before Soryu spoke again. “Aida?”
> 
> “Yes?”
> 
> “Shut up.”
> 
> He chuckled, the low mechanical sound whining. “No can do, Pilot Soryu. Got the results of my preliminary search, which are . . . not promising. He’s got social media, phone, the works, but all have been trimmed so I can’t get a bead on his physical location with them. He may have also dismantled his phone, I’m not sure. It isn’t quite a dead end, but . . .”
> 
> “What about his money?”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> On the other end, he heard Soryu sigh. “Why don’t you try following his money. Crack into his bank account and see where that’s going.”
> 
> “That’s . . . not terrible, but the protection around money is pretty good—I’ll need to be careful. Still, thanks for the idea.”
> 
> “Of course,” she said. “Can’t expect someone who never finished college to come up with the good ideas.” Kensuke ignored the barb, instead leaning back in the real world and setting to work in the electronic one.
> 
> It was fairly easy to find the bank; it was the accessing of it that would take more work. Ideally, he would’ve spent time finding some easy mark, calling them and getting their login credentials before going in. Now; however, he didn’t have that sort of time. Another, less ideal form, could be used, with a bit of brute forcing. “Alright,” he spoke as he gathered all of the necessary side channels. “I’m going to be using some programs to do a bit of trickery here—I’m going to be brute forcing the logins of the bank’s systems from a few hundred IP addresses. That should crash their ICE, and give me enough time to nick the files. They’ll know someone took them, but I’ll be running some other bits so they won’t know  _who_  nicked those files. So on that note,” he said as he launched the attack, watching as tiny red torpedoes bombarded into the ICE, “if I get arrested, you’re bailing me out.”
> 
> The ICE cracked, the blue sphere it represented shimmering once, then twice, before flatlining. It was a mad grab from there, a chaos of his attackers trying to delay the system reboot, not to mention the trace routines, as he gathered and scattered all the data he had pulled.
> 
> A few minutes later, the assembled thing was sitting in his deck, and he pulled out from the bank fully, the sphere still trying to coalesce itself again. “Alright, looking through here. Some basic stuff, groceries, tuition payments at a technical school,” he paused as he oriented the list to chronological order. “Huh.”
> 
> “What?” Soryu asked, sounding more irritated than anyone Kensuke had ever heard before.
> 
> “Well, about fifteen minutes ago, Abe apparently decided to buy drinks at a bar in Vancouver. Called ‘The Verge’.”
> 
> “So he’s not running,” Soryu muttered. “Get me the address.”
> 
> “Done and done,” Kensuke said, pulling out of cyberspace as he did so. The nausea was beginning to rise within him, but he kept it down for the moment. “The place looks very . . . scene,” he added as he skimmed over his deck. “If you’re actually going after this person, I’m not sure how low a profile you’d need, but—”
> 
> “That’s enough. Now thanks for doing the leg work on my idea.” At that, Soryu disconnected the call.
> 
> “Typical,” he muttered as he began to put away the deck. The coffee was cooling, but he took a drink from it nonetheless—it would tide him over until he could get a proper drink. “Leg work on her idea, right, I should just follow the . . .” At that, he stopped, thought for a moment, and had to resist the urge to laugh aloud. “Right. Don’t look for physical places. Just follow the money.”
> 
> **Vancouver, Canada; August 8 2019**
> 
> No one questioned Asuka when she left from the hospital. Not only had she suffered the least, mostly bruising, but she suspected that the drive that had filled her was palpable even for others. A few got close to her, at which point she brought out her badge and they quickly dropped the matter. She was unsure of whether to be disappointed by them or grateful.
> 
> She had left as soon as she had learned that the others were in stable conditions. She couldn’t bring herself to face them, not now. They were likely beginning to rise now, and then the whole group would have to face their failures.  _Seven and four,_  a voice inside of her said.  _Seven and four because you couldn’t do your job._
> 
> __The words, the sight of blood pouring from Nasheed’s side, of Tersoo laying on the ground, they kept repeating through her mind. She pleaded with them, hoping that they would fade. The dark of the night offered no relief; however, and the rain couldn’t wash it away. _Finish what you have started_ , the voice continued. She shook her head, only for it to repeat.
> 
> So she closed her eyes, took a breath, and got to work. She had a call to make.
> 
> ***  
> Aida might have been an idiot, but his summation of the Verge was accurate. Through the tall windows on the outside, Asuka could see the interior bathed in purple light, as well as the throngs inside. It was a busy night, twenty here, a few dozen there. They were dressed a bit more mild than what she would have guessed from Aida’s summation: a fair bit of mesh here, a number of sheer shirts, but no one was walking around in bondage gear. Still, dressed in jeans, an old shirt and a hoodie, Asuka looked relatively dressed down.  _Oh well. Now, no time like the present._
> 
> __The music in the place was also relatively subdued, some soft electronic piece gently floating over scraps of conversation. Asuka ignored it as she made her way to the bar. Beer was far from her ideal drink, but it seemed that was most of what they served. She found something that was at least tolerable, took a draught, and began looking through the bar for Ryoji Kaji.
> 
> From the vantage point Asuka had picked at the bar, she was able to scope out the majority of the place. The nooks and the crannies of the place could be searched later, for now she just glanced over the faces in the crowd. None of them stood out to her, estranged face on estranged face.
> 
> Eventually, she felt someone approaching. A young man, not Kaji, about her age. “Hi. You uh, looking for someone?” he asked, pushing back some of his scuffled, neck-length hair, which had been dyed pink. On him, it looked hideous, though it was somewhat made up for by the mesh shirt he was wearing, and the lack of anything underneath. He was quite muscular, Asuka noted. At some other point, he might have been tempting overall. The cargo pants were a bit of a let down. “Just noticed you eyeing the crowd, and I know most people here, so I figured . . .” Asuka nodded along mutely, trying her best to place his accent.  _Irish,_  she eventually decided,  _originally Irish, but muted. Probably born there and lived here a while._
> 
> __“I’ll be alright,” she told him. “Besides, if you know everyone here, then I think that shows you need to seriously reconsider your priorities.”
> 
> “Right, right,” he shot back in a flash, leaning against the bar next to her, “how dare I actually have a life? Besides, I work, I go to university, sometimes I decide I want to drink and spend time with friends. Didn’t realize that was heinous.” He huffed, and then paused. “Sorry, I’ll stop.”
> 
> She almost agreed before pausing. “Wait. Nevermind. You can help. Looking for someone named Gabriel Abe?”
> 
> “Huh,” the man muttered. “I hope he hasn’t done anything shitty. He owe you money or something?”
> 
> “It’s a personal reason,” Asuka responded, to which the man raised an eyebrow. “Nothing like what you’re thinking, I assure you.”
> 
> “Thank Christ, because at his age, he really shouldn’t be . . . right. Yeah, he came in today. Pretty sure he’s still here, so we can look for him if that’s amenable?”
> 
> “Sure thing,” Asuka said, finishing her beer as she spoke.
> 
> “Great,” the man said, extending his hand as he did so. Asuka shook it firmly, and he smiled. “Name’s Joshua.”
> 
> “Asuka.”
> 
> “Charmed,” he said before turning and starting to walk into the crowd, gesturing for her to follow.
> 
> “At least one of us is,” she muttered in response. He chuckled at that. For a moment they walked in relative silence, until the quiet between them got to her. “You been in Canada long?”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “Your accent, it’s a little off. Not in a bad way, just curious.”
> 
> “Oh.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Born in Ireland, but I’ve lived here for the past five or so years. I like it. You? Sound a bit German, but there’s something else there.”
> 
> “German, Japanese, and American,” she answered with pride. He looked back, the expression on his face suitably an impressed one. He almost looked half good with that. She looked away, taking a moment to peer into spots she wasn’t able to before. Still no signs of her target. Her pistol, hidden underneath her hoodie in a back holster, felt heavy now. For a moment, she wondered if it was a mistake to bring it, before denying that thought the room to continue. If Kaji wasn’t willing to go with her, she would need the persuasion.  _This is such a stupid plan,_  a part of her spoke up. She wasn’t sure if she disagreed with it anymore. “Just a bit more of a traveler here,” she continued after a moment, trying to bolster her courage with conversation.
> 
> “No harm in that,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he spoke, head swinging as he searched the corners. “No harm in wanting to stay in a place either. After all, anywhere can be a paradise so long as you’ve the will to live.” He sounded pained as he said that.
> 
> “You quoting anyone?” Asuka asked as they came to a clearing in the corner of the club. Joshua came to a stop in the clearing, and Asuka followed suit.
> 
> “No one special,” he said, shrugging as he did so. “Just some dead woman. There,” he added, pointing to a corner. Asuka followed his gesture and saw her target. He was older than she expected, chatting with some men casually. If he hadn’t been hidden away in the far corner, she would have picked him out rather easily, the jacket and khakis he was wearing made him stand out tremendously. “Hey, you have a good time, alright,” Asuka heard Joshua say. “Just don’t start anything.”
> 
> “Don’t plan to,” she answered. “And, uh, thanks.” Unsure of what else to say, she turned and began to walk towards Kaji. Her pace was slow, having to piece her way between the people around them, and also to not draw his attention. Her feet landed in sync with the hum and drop of the music, The Walther felt lighter than it had before. Seeing her target, the hesitation vanished, and she focused in on him.
> 
> Kaji was finishing his conversation, and turned, walking further into the building with an easy gait. Asuka followed behind, the two entering into a long hallway headed towards the bathrooms. There was no one else there, as she crossed the gap, passing a few doors as she approached him.
> 
> And was promptly grabbed from behind and shoved, the door on her left opening just in time for her to fall through it. Her vision spun, and then the same hands grabbed onto her. She pushed back against them with all her strength, bursting free as they twisted off of her. Even still, she was pushed, spun and then she righted herself. A cabinet stood in front of her, and as she turned she saw she was in a storage room, a large one. Rows of boxed drinks, sound stage equipment, and the like scattered around her and her assailant, who, she saw as she finished her revolution, was Joshua, holding a gun at her, a Walther. She reached to make things more even, and realized he was holding  _her_  Walther.
> 
> “What the fuck?” she let out after a moment, unsure of what else to say, but feeling the need to say something. Her heart was pounding in her throat, hypersensitivity clawing at her. Her eyes darted back and forth, every scrap of information gained in the adrenaline rush. Three things of note came to her immediately: her gun’s safety was still on, Joshua’s fingers were well away from the trigger, and the barrel wasn’t actually pointed at her, but instead at a point to her right. “You aren’t planning on killing me?”
> 
> “That depends,” Joshua answered. There was an edge to it, one which Asuka hadn’t noticed before. That of nerves. “Why did you ask about Abe?”
> 
> “Listen,” Asuka started, raising her hands up to her head and taking a step forward. There was only a small distance between them. If she could get to him, she could disarm him.  _Get him talking first._  “I know that his real name is Ryoji Kaji. I just want to talk to him, find out why someone who was in contact with the people he was happened to own a house on top of an angel. This is a matter of global security, you have to—”
> 
> “Understand? Trust me, we do,” another voice came from her right, and she tilted her head to see Kaji enter the room. Up close, she could see more of the lines on his face, the age that he was wearing. For someone his age, he looked older. He also had a pistol in his grip, a U22 Neos. “Good job,” he said to Joshua, who nodded, never taking his eyes off of Asuka. “Though it may turn out that this whole thing wasn’t necessary.”
> 
> “What do you mean?” Joshua asked, whereas Asuka just gave a look of bewilderment.
> 
> “We both heard her, she wants me, not you. Meaning that she isn’t SEELE. Our hunch was right, she’s NERV.”
> 
> “Of course I’m fucking NERV,” Asuka snapped at him, taking a step back when he shifted his gaze to her.  _No, don’t be a coward now._  “I’m Asuka Langley Soryu, the First Child, and if you know anything, then you’ll know that your best chances are if you just let me go.”
> 
> “Not anymore we can’t,” Kaji answered, taking a moment to close the door behind him. “You see, this particular trap was set for someone other than you. Unfortunately you’ve stepped into it, and now you know some things that you shouldn’t. So we have one of two choices here. One means a very long conversation, and the other means, well . . .” he held up his gun.
> 
> “You’re insane! Who are you, who is SEELE, and why do you both think that you’re so important‽”
> 
> “Shit,” Joshua muttered. “We should have just run. This was a terrible idea . . .”
> 
> Kaji put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Just need to have a conversation,” he said, looking over at Asuka as he did so. “She’s right in one regard, we can’t just kill a pilot. We’ll just have to talk a few things over. I’m sure that you’re very confused.”
> 
> “Very,” Asuka answered flatly. The room filled with silence for a moment, only for a phone to begin chiming. Kaji fished in his pocket, drew his, and swore. “What?” she asked.
> 
> “We’re about to have some unpleasant company,” he answered. Unbidden, memories of the man in Kaji’s house surfaced in Asuka’s mind. Her hand clenched for a pistol that wasn’t there. “The conversation can wait. For now, we need to focus on staying alive—these people will kill you too for having seen us. I know this sounds odd.”
> 
> “That’s the most reasonable thing you’ve said yet,” Asuka interjected, walking over and extending her hand at Joshua. He acquiesced, handing her back her gun.
> 
> “We’re this way, he said, moving for the back of the room. Asuka followed, entering a proper stance as best she could in the moment. Kaji took up the rear, and as she and Joshua turned around a collection of shelves, she heard Kaji open fire. Two shots rung out, no more. Asuka glanced back and saw he was still behind.  _What the hell are you doing?_  a part of her asked, but she ignored it for the moment. Getting out alive was the most important thing here.
> 
> The exited through a door in the back of the storage room, sweeping their angles before stepping out into the small back road behind the club. The rain was pouring thicker now, but a ways down she could see a van parked against the curb. The began to approach it, ignoring the drops that lashed against skin and pounded into clothes. Still, they were close.
> 
> Kaji was unlocking the van when several shots ran out. Asuka felt herself slip and crash down on the ground, pain first radiating out from her leg and then from her side. There was a dull throbbing in her skull as she landed, and her vision was blurred. In the corner of her eye, she saw Kaji fall over as well, blood mingling with the rain. He was pushing back to his feet when he was shoved down.
> 
> A moment later, the figured appeared. It was the same one she had seen in Kaji’s home. The way it had appeared, it had to have been in her vision earlier. Maybe the rain had obscured them, or maybe she had closed her eyes for a moment. Blood red eyes stared at her, and then at Kaji, and then turned to look to where Joshua was. “So, hybrid,” he spoke, voice still as soft as when he had been fighting them. Shouldn’t he be dead? she wondered, but he was ahead of them nonetheless. “I’m glad to finally meet you. You are the hybrid, no? Your gaze the same as mine?”
> 
> Joshua stepped forward, into Asuka’s vision. “R-run,” she managed to groan. He tossed her a sympathetic look, but did nothing of the sort. “You idiot,” she instead revised her statement, and began to work on rising to her feet. Maybe she couldn’t hurt their attacker, but she was a pilot. She’d at least give it a try.
> 
> As she rose, she heard Joshua speak. “If I show you my gaze, will you stop speaking?” He reached up, pulled something away from his face and let it drop to the ground. A contact.
> 
> “In the flesh,” the man muttered. There was the rasp of a sword being drawn.  _The same one that hurt Nasheed,_  Asuka’s mind supplied, and then the two men were grappling. Asuka slipped backwards, watching as the sword was delivered from point to point, never finding a mark as they pushed at each other, until it was tossed to the side, Joshua managing to slam their attacker onto the ground. It was impressive, but no one had managed to—
> 
> Then Joshua slugged the man across the face, sending his head slamming back, blood drawn. Oh, was all Asuka was able to think of on that. Joshua brought his fist down again and again, before pulling away. “I’m not some hybrid,” he said, half-sputtering, half-shouting. “My name is Joshua Ichiro Kaji. And you and SEELE’s days of hunting me are numbered.” The figured didn’t answer, remaining there on the ground, softly groaning. “Come on,” Joshua muttered, and gestured to the car. Asuka nodded, clambering into the passenger’s side, while Joshua helped Kaji into the back, where he sprawled out. From the far back, a dog leaned out to lick at Kaji’s face, while he pressed his hands against spots at his side where blood was dripping out. She checked her own wound, there wasn’t too much blood. The shot hadn’t hit anything major. She breathed out a sigh of relief.
> 
> Outside, the hood was opened briefly, and then a moment later Joshua lowered it and clambered in, the sword in his hand. He tossed it in the backseat, rummaged for a second with the keys, and turned the ignition. “Just checking that they didn’t sabotage anything,” he said as the car started up. “We’re looking good.” At that, he put the car in gear, and began rolling forward, over their attacker’s body and out into the streets. “They aren’t dead,” Joshua said quietly as he gripped the steering wheel. “Not if they’re who I think they were.”
> 
> Asuka nodded, mind racing from the adrenaline, still unable to process fully what was happening. The pain was still more than fresh, there was the taste of blood in her mouth, and her vision still felt off. That must have been why she didn’t question the direction things were going, or how one of Joshua’s eyes was the color of blood.
> 
>  


End file.
